


Mediterranean Holiday

by EclecticMuse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Mild Angst, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, Humor, Mutual Pining, SciOps Era, Sharing a Bed, Travel, Travelogue, Tropes, Wining and Dining, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-01-22 13:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: When Jemma wins a two-week Mediterranean dream cruise, she asks Fitz to come along as her plus one. A fortnight of traveling and seeing the sights of Europe seems like the perfect getaway for two best friends--but cabin mishaps and nosy passengers seem designed to put that to the test. Will they make it through their holiday in one piece, or will they discover there's more to their relationship than they want to admit?
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 540
Kudos: 353





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came from an RP thread I'm doing with mrsleopoldfitz, where we sent Fitz and Jemma on a blowout European honeymoon cruise because we _could_. Then I thought, what if I took that general premise and used it as the basis for a friends to lovers fic? So here we are! Lots of thanks go to agl03, who lent her travel agent expertise to the plotting of this story, and to my exquisite beta recoveringrabbit, who helped me whip it into shape and listened to me moan over just about everything related to writing this. I also have to give a shoutout to Google Maps and Street View, without which this fic would not be nearly as detailed, descriptive, and planned out as it is. It was a lifesaver while writing.
> 
> I plan on updating once a week on Mondays. Enjoy!

Jemma Simmons was curled up comfortably in the corner of her sofa, reading an article on her tablet about soil biodiversity in the Amazon while an episode of The Great British Bake Off played quietly on the television in the background, when her roommate came bustling in from a jaunt out to the grocery store.

“Hey, I picked up the mail on my way in,” he said, holding up a handful of envelopes and sale ads as he got the door shut behind him. “You got something, uh… interesting.”

Jemma looked over her shoulder at him as he headed for the kitchen, laden down with grocery bags. “Oh?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah.” He let the first of his bags land down on the counter with a heavy _ thunk _ and sighed in relief. “It’s from Stark Industries. And it’s really thick.” The rest of the bags set down, he dropped all of the mail save for one envelope and wagged it at her, his mouth quirking up into a grin. “Why would you be getting something from them? You aren’t shopping around for a new job, are you?”

Her interest definitely piqued now, Jemma set her tablet aside and stood. “Of course not, don’t be silly,” she said, walking toward him. “Let me see that.”  
  
She wouldn’t dream of looking for a new job. Jemma had been colleagues with Leo Fitz longer than they’d been roommates; they had met on their very first day at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s SciTech Academy at age sixteen, and quickly struck up a solid working relationship after they’d been grouped as partners in their chemical kinetics lab. They’d worked together ever since, all the way through graduation to their subsequent assignment to the SciOps facility in Boston, where they were still to this day. Quickly making a name for themselves as two of the brightest minds S.H.I.E.L.D. could boast, they were quite the formidable pair--Fitz with his engineering and physics skills and Jemma with her biochemistry expertise--and they’d already completed several successful long-term projects that had been added to the field teams’ arsenals. Their superiors were always pleased with their output and the general consensus was that they would go far together.

Reaching Fitz, Jemma took the envelope from him and peered at it. There was the Stark Industries logo on the return address, and it was indeed addressed to her. The envelope was rather thick too, just as he’d said, suggesting there was a wealth of papers folded inside.

“I can’t think of what it might be,” Jemma said, turning it over and working a finger beneath the flap. “But let’s see what they’ve got to say for themselves, shall we?”

Fitz turned to his grocery bags to start unloading them as Jemma carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. When she unfolded them and began to read what was on the top page, her eyes went wide with surprise, her eyebrows arching up into her hairline.

“_Oh_,” she said. “Oh, my.”

Fitz glanced at her as he pulled a pint of milk from one of the bags. “What is it?”

Jemma looked over the first few lines of the cover letter again, just to be sure she’d read it correctly and wasn’t seeing things. “I’ve won an all-expenses-paid two-week dream cruise to the Mediterranean, courtesy of Tony Stark,” she said.

Fitz paused with the refrigerator door open and gave her an incredulous look. “_What_?”

Well, it did sound slightly ridiculous and fanciful when she put it like that. Fitz couldn’t be blamed for not believing her. Leaning against the edge of the counter, Jemma read over the letter one more time as all of the puzzle pieces fell into place in her mind.

“I’ve won a cruise,” she repeated. “I remember this now--you know that biotech conference we went to months ago, in Sacramento?” Fitz nodded, closing the fridge. “They were holding a giveaway,” she explained, “a competition of sorts, where the prize was a cruise package for the winner and a guest. I decided to enter.”

Fitz gave her a shrewd look as he came back to the counter to pull out a few more cold items to put in the fridge. “Why in the world did you do that?” he asked. When Jemma simply gave him a stare, he rushed to add, “I mean, it’s just--you’ve never really struck me as the type of person who would even enjoy a cruise.”

Jemma looked back down at the packet of papers in her hand and bit her lip. “Well… that was a while back, and… you know, I was with Milton then, and I thought it would be something nice he and I could do together if I won, but… obviously, that won’t be happening now.” She'd broken it off with Milton ages ago.

“Obviously.” Fitz shut the fridge door again and came back to her, holding out his hand. “Here, can I see it?” Jemma turned the papers over to him, and he glanced through them with a critical eye. “Hmm. Yes, it’s got the Stark Industries seal and all, and they included a brochure on the cruise, but… do you think it could be a scam?” Looking up at her, he frowned and shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully. “I mean, it just sounds really strange to me that _ Tony Stark _ would pay to send strangers on a cruise. What does he get out of it?”

Jemma rolled her eyes as she took the papers back from him. “It’s not a scam, I’m sure of it. Stark Industries was one of the sponsors of the conference, remember? You went to their presentation on nanobots.” She leafed through the information packet to put the brochure on top so she could look at it. “Besides, I very clearly remember submitting a short brief on the varied applications of dendrotoxins in order to be considered for the prize.”

“Aaaaah, there it is,” Fitz sang, sounding smug, and turned away from her to finish up with the last of his grocery bags. “That’s what he’s getting out of it--he’s crowdsourcing ideas and labor for free. Be careful, Simmons, or the next thing you know, Stark Industries is going to come out with a line of non-lethal weaponry.”

Jemma rolled her eyes again as she turned to head back to the sofa. “Don’t be such a cynic,” she admonished him. “I’m sure even Tony Stark understands the sanctity of scientific interchange, he’s not going to _ steal _ my idea. And anyway, he dismantled the weapons division entirely a few years ago.”

Fitz snorted. “You might still want to give them a call in the morning, just to make sure,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to fall for some dirty scam that’s trying to--”

“What would they even be trying to scam me out of?” Jemma asked, plopping back down on the sofa.

“I don’t know. Your personal information?”

She sighed. “I’ll call them in the morning, I promise. And then you’ll see that it isn’t a scam.”

-:-

The next afternoon, Jemma approached Fitz where he sat in the lab’s break room, her phone in her hands and her face slightly pale. He looked up from his lunch as she drew near, then did a double-take when he saw her expression. “Did it go that badly?” he asked, concerned.

Jemma shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said, sliding into the seat next to him, where she’d left her own lunch earlier before going to call Stark Industries. “It went very well, actually. More than that, even.” When Fitz just raised an eyebrow at her, she continued, “I just got off the phone with _ Pepper Potts_\--”

Fitz choked on a potato chip. “_Sorry_?”

“Yes!” Jemma exclaimed, setting her phone down on the table and shifting in her seat to face him. “I called their information line, introduced myself, told them my concerns, and asked to speak to anyone who might know anything regarding the company’s sponsorships at industry conferences. The lady I spoke to was very polite, but she put me on hold and the next thing I knew Pepper Potts herself was on the line saying that the cruise prize is indeed very real and that she and Tony Stark were very impressed with my project brief!” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Fitz, _ Pepper Potts _ liked my proposal!”

“Bloody hell.” Fitz blinked in amazement as he picked up his sandwich to take another bite, then shook his head. “I mean, of course she did. You’re brilliant, Simmons, you could write an award-winning proposal brief in your sleep, easy.”

Jemma beamed as a flush of warmth passed through her, the same way it always did when Fitz praised or complimented her. “Thank you. It was all I could do to keep myself from picking her brain on it--because I’ll likely never get the chance again--but she’s a very busy woman and I didn’t want to take up her time. I’m sure she had more important things to do than talk to me.”

“Maybe,” Fitz said around a mouthful of turkey and swiss. “So are you going to go on the cruise?”

She gave him an exasperated look as she took the lid off of her salad. “Of course I am! I’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this. Two weeks cruising the Mediterranean for free? It’s a dream.” She took a container of sliced fruit from her lunch bag and arranged it neatly next to her salad. “And it really_ is _ all-expenses-paid, Pepper made sure I understood that. There’s no hidden costs or anything. All I’d need to worry about are souvenirs.”

“‘Pepper’?” Fitz asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Jemma flushed. “She insisted that I call her that instead of Ms. Potts.”

“Right,” Fitz nodded. “That’s nice. Okay, so, you’re gonna go by yourself on this cruise now that you don’t have Cabbage Head to tag along?”

She only just stopped herself from giving him a withering look. Milton might be her ex, but she had always found Fitz’s disdain of him rather juvenile. “No,” she said slowly, then focused on her salad as she speared some lettuce and a baby tomato on her fork. “Actually, I thought you and I could go together.”

He wrinkled his nose. “What? Me? Go on a cruise?”

She hadn’t expected him to instantly warm to the idea, but Jemma was prepared to persuade him. “Yes, you,” she said, after she’d swallowed her bite of salad. “It makes perfect sense. You’re my best friend, we travel well together when we attend conferences, and when was the last time either of us had a proper holiday?”

Fitz at least had the grace to tilt his head thoughtfully at her question. “Dunno,” he said after a minute. “It’s been awhile.”

“Exactly.” Jemma smiled at him. “I think we’ve earned ourselves one. We work so hard, I think it might do us some good to take a short break and relax.”

“Ehh…” Fitz was back to looking dubious as he fiddled with the remains of his sandwich. “Wouldn’t you, I don’t know, rather go with Sally or one of the other girls from across the hall? Make it a ladies’ holiday or something?”

This time Jemma couldn’t hold back her disgust. “Ugh, _ Fitz. _ I can’t think of anything I’d rather do _ less _ than spend two weeks with only Sally Webber for company. I’d much rather have you go; I know I’ll have a good time that way. Please say you’ll consider it?”

He was the only logical option for her. They knew each other inside and out; they finished each others’ sentences, could hold entire conversations just through looks alone, and almost always knew what the other was thinking. No one understood her the way Fitz did, and they never ran out of things to talk and bicker about. She softened his rough edges and he encouraged her to relax more. She just knew they could have a lot of fun on the cruise together.

Fitz sighed, looking for all the world like she’d asked him to eat kale again. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

Well. It was a start, at least.

-:-

The next day at lunch, they were joined by Grimes, a junior tech from the lab next door to theirs.

“So, I heard Simmons won herself a sweet, sweet cruise vacation,” he said cheerfully, flipping a chair around and sitting in it with his arms folded across the back. “You gonna go with her, Fitz?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Cruises aren’t really my thing.”

Grimes laughed like he was being ridiculous and swatted at his arm. “Aw, come on, man!” he cried. “You two already do everything else together, why not this? You’ll have a blast.”

Fitz tried not to visibly bristle. He adored Simmons and genuinely liked spending all of his time with her, but sometimes resented that people seemed to think they couldn’t function without the other. “I don’t _ have _ to go with her,” he muttered into his soda can.

“Sure you do,” Grimes countered. “Look, it’s a dream vacation entirely on Tony Stark’s dime. I’m pretty sure other people would kill for this. What’s your hangup?”

“That’s what I told him,” Simmons said, biting into a piece of melon from the mixed fruit container in front of her.

Fitz shrugged expressively again. “I guess--I don’t know, drinking on a boat for two weeks isn’t exactly my idea of fun.” Drinking on their sofa for two weeks and playing video games, now_ that _ had a ring to it.

Grimes shook his head. “My man, if someone else was paying for it, I could make _ anything _ fun.”

“And we wouldn’t be spending the entire two weeks on the ship,” Simmons chimed in. “It won’t just be drinking. There will be plenty of things to do in each port of call during the day! Think of all the culture and history we’ll be able to experience, Fitz. It’ll be like an adventure.”

“Yeah,” Grimes said, looking away from Simmons to face Fitz again and grinning. “An adventure. In more ways than one.”

Privately, Fitz thought that their coworker was a little too invested in the idea of him going on this trip with Simmons--though he couldn’t fathom why. And what did he mean, in more ways than one? 

When he noticed that both Fitz and Simmons were giving him a puzzled look, Grimes threw up his hands. “Fine. If you guys don’t get it, I’m not telling you,” he said. “But you should totally go, Fitz.”

He sighed. It wasn’t that he completely loathed the idea of a cruise, it was more that he was afraid he’d wind up being too finicky, like Simmons sometimes accused him of being, and ruin the whole trip for her. In truth, getting to spend two weeks on holiday with his best friend was actually rather appealing, even if the location wasn’t his first choice. And Simmons looked so hopeful, sitting across the table from him with bright eyes and an eager expression. He couldn’t let her down, could he? Not when she was looking at him like that, no matter his personal misgivings.

“Alright,” he finally said, and took a swig from his soda. “I’ll go.”

“Really?” Simmons gasped, and it was worth agreeing just to see the way her face lit up with excitement. “Oh, that’s brilliant--I’ll get started on the paperwork I have to turn in for us as soon as we get home.”

Grimes, meanwhile, was chuckling and nodding. “Awesome,” he said with feeling. “Can’t wait to hear all about it, you guys are gonna be the toast of the entire lab. You’ll post lots of pictures, right?”

“Of course,” Simmons reassured him. Fitz thought Grimes looked way too pleased by her response, but didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he watched as the other man slapped the table once with his palm.

“Right, so you guys enjoy the rest of your lunch, I’m gonna go grab mine. Enjoy planning your trip!” Tossing them a wink, Grimes stood and headed for the fridge at the back of the break room. “Hey, guys!” he called out to a table full of engineers as he passed them. “FitzSimmons are going on a cruise!”

Fitz rolled his eyes, then turned back to his lunch, only to find Simmons beaming at him. “Thank you so much, Fitz,” she said quietly, just for him. “We’ll have a wonderful time, I just know it.”

He smiled back at her--it was hard not to, when she looked that happy--and shrugged easily, playing it casual. “I mean, if it gets Grimes off my arse, yeah, I’ll go.”

Simmons _ tsked _ at him, and just like that, she was back to pulling a face. “Ugh, _ Fitz_.”

-:- 

Fitz’s participation secure, Simmons dove headfirst into trip planning. She completed all of the necessary paperwork that first night just as promised, and soon afterward Pepper sent her a packet with the full cruise details and information necessary to prepare for their holiday. The cruise set sail in just over two months and was scheduled to depart from Barcelona, Spain. Pepper promised to have her assistant coordinate with them on booking a flight into the city and finding a hotel to stay at overnight. That would be paid for as well; Stark really was footing the bill for everything. When Fitz wondered if they were getting a free ride only to be put in coach, Simmons reassured him that Pepper had said they were getting an upgraded suite and VIP perks. It really was set to be a dream vacation.

They also put in for leave time at work, to the amusement of their supervisor. Word had gotten around about Simmons’ prize winnings, which they suspected was mostly Grimes’ doing; they’d expected their boss to be unhappy about them being gone from the lab for two entire weeks, but instead he told them to go and enjoy themselves. “The only time you two take off is to go to the dentist,” Sanderson said. “We’ll make do without you for two weeks. Send our regards to Tony Stark.”

“They _ do _ know we’re not actually meeting Stark, don’t they?” Fitz whispered to Simmons as they left Sanderson’s office.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Everyone seems to think we’re in his inner circle now.”

Fitz huffed. “Wouldn’t I like to be, though. The most famous and brilliant engineer in the world? I’d love to talk shop with him. But this is the closest I’ll ever get.”

Simmons clucked softly. “Aww, Fitz,” she said, briefly touching his arm as they rounded a corner in the hall. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance someday.”

At home, Simmons started spending most of her evenings researching shore excursions, comparing what was on offer in each port of call and taking notes to see which one would offer the best value for their time. Fitz would sneak looks at her as she worked, curled up on the opposite end of the sofa from him while he watched telly. 

“How about off-roading when we visit Santorini?” she asked one night, her eyes fixed on her tablet. “We can ride on 4x4s across the island and get to see sights visitors typically don’t get to see. I think there’s even hot springs swimming.”

Fitz wrinkled his nose. “Off-roading?” he asked, giving her a dubious look. “Really?”

Simmons looked up from her tablet at him. “You don’t think it sounds fun?”

He shook his head. “It’s a little… _ too _ outdoorsy for me, I think. I thought the point of a cruise was to relax.”

“It is!” Simmons sounded scandalized. “In the _ evenings_. Who has time to relax during the day when there will be so much to do? Besides, you’re the one who said you didn’t want to spend all day on the boat, drinking.”

Fitz turned his face back to the television so she wouldn’t see him smile. She was tackling this with the type of gusto she usually reserved for a new project at work. “You’re right, I did. What else is there to do on Santorini?”

Simmons consulted her tablet again, tapping at it a few times. “Well, we could attend a traditional Greek celebration, with lunch and dancing and plate smashing--” Fitz groaned. “Or we could go volcano hiking--” He groaned even louder, and she gave him a severe look. “Honestly, Fitz, does anything please you? There’s only so many options!”

He waved a hand at her, trying to dispel the absurd visions he had of falling into a lava pit. “Fine, fine. I trust you to pick out something fun and _ non-lethal _for us to do,” he said, stressing safety. “You can just surprise me.”

“Hmph.” Simmons lifted her chin primly before focusing back on her tablet.

She was going to pick the volcano hiking. He just knew she was. There was no way she would pass up the opportunity to stare a volcano in the face. She was predictable like that.

He would just have to try not to complain _ too _ much.

-:- 

One Saturday just a few weeks before their trip, Simmons was gone for the morning and some of the early afternoon, out shopping. When she came back loaded down with bags from the department stores at the mall, Fitz goggled at her.

“Are you overhauling your closet?” he asked from the kitchen, where he was heating up some leftover takeaway for lunch.

Simmons gave him a stern look as she shut the door behind her and walked past the sofa. “No,” she said. “I’m preparing for our holiday.”

“All of that is for the cruise,” Fitz deadpanned, following behind her to the edge of the counter and watching as she struggled down the hall toward her room. “Just how many outfits a day are you planning on wearing?”

Simmons went into her room, and a second later there was the sound of a few thuds as her bags hit the floor. She reappeared after a minute carrying a large box in her hands. “Just one,” she said, “with a few extras in case I need to change for any reason. But my current wardrobe as it stands isn’t really built for an extended summer holiday, so that needed fixing. Here.” She held out the box to him. “I got these for you.”

Shooting her a curious look, Fitz accepted the box and opened it to find a sturdy-looking pair of walking boots. He frowned at her. “You got me shoes?” he asked. “How do you know what size I wear?”  
  
She shrugged one shoulder. “I checked your closet.”

He snapped the box lid shut, feeling his cheeks heat. “Simmons!” he hissed. “You can’t just--go barging in on my room when I’m not there! What if I’d had my pants all over the floor?”

Simmons rolled her eyes. “They’re just clothes,” she said. “Speaking of which, you might need to go do a little shopping yourself, maybe get some swim trunks. I wasn’t going to buy those for you.”

“I should think not,” Fitz muttered, hugging the box to his stomach. The thought of Simmons buying him swim trunks was just too far beyond the pale. “But what’s wrong with the clothes I’ve already got?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you got any shorts?” she asked. He shook his head. “That’s what I thought. You might want to get some--we’ll be outside a lot, and I don’t want you overheating in your trousers. That’d be a fast way to ruin our trip.”

“Right,” Fitz said, mentally resigning himself to making his own trip out to the mall next weekend. Buying shorts didn’t excite him in the least--he was pasty enough as it was, and putting his weedy legs on display didn’t help matters--but if Simmons thought it would be a good idea to pick up a pair or two, he’d do it for her.

-:-

The day before they were scheduled to leave for Barcelona, Fitz and Simmons worked a half day at the lab, tying up any loose ends they had and setting a few long-term tests to run while they were gone. Several of their coworkers stopped by to wish them a fun trip, Grimes among them. 

“You guys are going to have such an awesome time,” he said, leaning against Simmons’ workbench. “Don’t forget to post tons of pics. We want to see everything.”

“Yeah, sure, we will,” Fitz said distractedly, waving a hand. He was focused on writing a last-minute program to run in the background of Simmons’ computer to analyze data results she’d entered into spreadsheets over the past month. “That’s more Simmons’ thing anyway, I’m sure she’ll be posting a lot.”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Grimes replied easily. “I follow her on Instagram.”

“He does,” Simmons confirmed. “Comments on everything I post, almost.”

Fitz snuck a look at their coworker out of the corner of his eye. He already followed Simmons on Instagram? And commented on all of her posts? Creepy bugger. Shaking his head, he typed in the last few lines of code and set the program to compile, then stood to head for the back of the lab and the supply shelves to grab a plastic bin to organize his bench. Grimes followed him.

“Hey, man,” he said once he was near, keeping his voice down, “you need any tips?”

Fitz gave him a puzzled look. “Tips? Tips for what?”

Grimes sighed, his expression long-suffering but patient. He glanced back at Simmons. “For getting with Simmons,” he whispered.

“What?” Fitz hissed in horror, his face flushing crimson. “For getting with--are you mad?! I do not want to _ get with _ Simmons. She’s my roommate! My best friend!”

Grimes shook his head, looking completely unperturbed at Fitz’s minor outburst. “Yeah, and she could be a whole lot more if you’d just put in a little effort.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded. 

“Seriously? Dude, we've all seen the way she looks at you.” Grimes nodded encouragingly. “You just gotta time it right, make your move, and bam--you’ve got yourself a smoking hot girlfriend.”

A swell of bitterness and sour bile that Fitz couldn’t really explain rose up in his chest, though he wasn’t certain if it was because Grimes had implied Simmons had feelings for him, or because the other man had called her attractive. Either way, it put a scowl on his face. “Sod off, Grimes,” he muttered, facing the shelf in front of him, giving him a clear dismissal. “She doesn't go for guys like me.”

Grimes just grinned and held his hands up in defeat as he backed away. “You're wrong, man,” he said, at normal volume. “But I'm just saying. It's something to think about.” Then he turned to head for the lab door. “Have fun,” he said again to Simmons as he passed her bench. “Remember, lots of pictures!”

Simmons gave him a bemused smile as he left the lab, then watched Fitz as he picked up a small bin and came back to his desk. “What was that about?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the door.

“Uh, him?” Fitz scratched nervously at one of his eyebrows as he sat down. “Oh, it was nothing--he, uh, he was just trying to give me advice on how to pick up girls in Rome.” He laughed shortly. “Fancies himself an international ladies’ man.”

Simmons laughed too, and hearing the light tone of it went a long way toward soothing the disquiet he was feeling. “Oh, I’m sure it was rubbish advice, Grimes couldn’t pick up a girl if his life depended on it,” she said, smiling.

Fitz agreed with her, but their coworker’s words regarding Simmons were still on his mind several hours later as he watched her dash to and fro around their apartment, checking and double-checking their suitcases, making sure they had everything packed. She looked a little manic, her hair falling from her ponytail, and he wished he could soothe her; she always got a little fussy before overnight trips, but this was a little too much, even for her. 

He caught her by the arm on her fourth trip to the bathroom to make sure they hadn’t forgotten any toiletries. “Hey,” he said gently, taking in her wide eyes, “try to sit and relax a bit, yeah? We’re all packed. You made us excellent lists and we stuck to them.”

“But what if we forget something important?” she asked. Then her breath caught. “You’ve got your passport in your backpack, right?”

Fitz nodded, giving her arm a light squeeze. “Yeah, I do. Along with my boarding passes. And if we forget something, we can probably pick it up in the duty-free shop on the ship. Right?”

“Right,” Simmons relented after a pause, nodding. Then she sagged in his grip a bit. “I’m sorry. I just… I just want everything to go off without a hitch. You know how I can be.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said again, this time fondly. Simmons only worried so much because she cared. “Everything will be fine. But first--I think we should see about getting some sleep. You’ve got us waking up at an ungodly hour to make it to the airport on time and _ you _ know how _ I _can be.”

That got a small grin out of her, which pleased him. “I absolutely do,” she said, standing up straighter. “Can’t start our holiday off with a grumpy Fitz.” She reached out to briefly touch his arm. “I’m going to go get ready for bed. See you in the morning.”

As Fitz crawled into bed himself a few minutes later after changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth, he had to admit to himself that he was actually rather excited. Two weeks stretched out ahead of him with the promise of nothing but his best friend and adventure. What could possibly go wrong?


	2. Barcelona

“I have never appreciated Tony Stark more than I do right now,” Fitz announced, sprawled in the backseat of the car they were riding in.

Jemma, who was staring out the window at the scenery zipping past, turned to look at him and smiled. “Oh?” she asked, amusement coloring her tone. “And why is that?” She already knew the answer, but as good a mood as they were both in, she wanted to hear him say it.

“Because he paid for us to fly business class,” Fitz replied with feeling. His mouth was stretched out in a satisfied grin, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow on his face. “Seven hours from Boston to here with _ leg room_. Bloody amazing. I’m spoiled now, I can never fly home Economy ever again.”

Jemma’s smile widened, happy to see him so pleased. “I get the feeling this whole holiday is going to spoil us,” she said. 

It was already looking to be a very enjoyable trip. They’d woken up at a completely unreasonable hour--just as Fitz had said--in order for them to make their 5 a.m. flight, and Fitz had been a bit grumpy--just as he’d predicted--but they’d both been thrilled to find their seats with ample leg space located right next to each other in the middle of the business class cabin. They’d promptly stretched out and gone straight back to sleep until the flight attendants had come through with the lunch service. After they’d eaten, they’d put on headphones and watched one movie and the beginning of another before the plane landed in Barcelona.

From there, it had been the necessary tedium of waiting on their luggage, going through customs, and getting a cab to take them to their hotel. Fitz had joked that he thought Tony Stark was paying for _ everything_, but Jemma had shushed him and reasoned that one cab ride paid out of pocket was not going to bankrupt them.

Which brought them to now, speeding along the highway towards the city. They’d already gone through the suburbs and now had steep hills on one side of them and the industrial areas surrounding the port on the other. Jemma was eager to take it all in, excited to learn about a new location, but Fitz was content to rhapsodize about the luxury of their flight.

“Not surprised they were hiding the top shelf liquor up there either,” he said, scratching at his chin and continuing to grin. “It was nice to have a proper scotch instead of settling for a Jack and Coke. I could really get used to that.”

Jemma looked away from the window again. “So what you’re telling me is that all these years of living together and watching you subsist on crisps and Benderry’s, you’re actually a man of refined tastes?” she teased. “And you’ve been hiding it?”

Fitz shot her a mock offended look. “You joke, but I’m serious. We get to live in luxury for the next two weeks and I fully intend to enjoy it. Who knows when we’ll get the chance again?”

He had a point, she thought, and it wasn’t that she didn’t mean to take advantage of what was being offered to them herself--it was just fun to rile Fitz up.

Eventually the highway entered the city proper, and they drove through a few underground tunnels before exiting onto a busy street lined with modern buildings. Fitz stopped rambling about the plane amenities long enough to finally take stock of their surroundings, and Jemma saw a spark of excitement in his eyes. She knew he’d had reservations about coming on the cruise, so it was extremely gratifying to see him look so eager. She was convinced he would have a good time and was already well on his way, if his assessment of their flight was anything to go by; he just had to let himself relax.

As their cab made its way down tree-lined boulevards, they watched as the buildings around them grew older in age until it almost resembled driving through London. Only the foreign-language signs and the high number of mopeds and motorbikes on the streets reminded them that they weren’t. When the cab turned onto a series of exceedingly narrow streets, making Fitz tense in his seat a little, Jemma knew they had entered the Gothic Quarter, the oldest section of the city, and were close to their hotel.

Their driver eventually let them out at the back of a beautiful old pink-and-beige stone building situated on a plaza across from a large church--the Cathedral of Barcelona, according to Jemma’s GPS. Fitz paid the driver, and then they grabbed their suitcases to walk around to the front entrance.

“Looks posh,” Fitz observed, nodding up at the tiny wrought-iron balconies that framed every window. “I hope it’s just as nice on the inside.”

“I’m sure it is,” Jemma reassured him. “I trust Pepper--or Pepper’s assistant, at the very least--to put us up in a nice hotel. It’ll be fine.”

It turned out that Fitz had nothing to worry about. Straight in the door, Jemma had to keep herself from cooing at the pink marble floors, dark wood paneling, and impressive floral arrangements that made up a large part of the decor of the lobby. Fitz stood to one side and looked up at the large brass and crystal chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling as Jemma got them checked in, and as soon as they were on their way to the elevators, he leaned in close so only Jemma could hear him speak.

“It’s not as rich as something I’d expect from Tony Stark, but it’s still really nice,” he whispered, grinning.

“Fitz!” she hissed, smacking him with the envelope that held their room keys. “Be nice.”

He laughed as he reached forward to hit the call button for the elevator. “Am I wrong?” he asked. “You can’t tell me you could see Stark slumming it here.” 

Perhaps not--Jemma found it easier to see the billionaire staying at a more modern hotel instead of one as traditional as this--but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a very nice hotel. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was much more extravagant than something she would pay for herself, outside of a special occasion, maybe.

Their room was just as impressive as the lobby. This time Jemma did let out a hum of appreciation as she took it all in: a simple yet tasteful aesthetic in neutral creams and beiges accented with a calm teal; wingback chairs by the windows which had the drapes pulled open; fresh lilies in a vase on the desk; and two plush-looking twin beds piled high with pillows. It was the kind of room that made her regret they were only spending one night.

Fitz went straight for the bed closest to them and set his suitcase and backpack down at the foot of it, then stretched. “What do you think about dinner?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

Jemma rolled her suitcase over to the second bed and sat down. Sinking into the mattress a bit, she was gratified to feel that it was just as soft as it looked. “Dinner sounds good. What are you in the mood for?”

He rubbed his thumb over his chin. “I’m not feeling too picky.” Heading in the direction of the bathroom, he added, “Do you want to try the hotel restaurant or go somewhere else?” A pause. “Oh wow, this bathroom is posh too.”

Jemma smiled to herself as she pulled her phone from her pocket and swiped her thumb across the screen to unlock it. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she said. “If we’re going to be here less than twenty-four hours, I don’t want to spend all of it holed up in the hotel.”

“That’s fair.” Fitz reappeared and his eyebrows went up in approval when he saw her. “Oh, good, you’re already looking.”

She shot him a grin--of course she was, what else did he expect of her?--and went back to tapping at her phone. “The good thing about where we are is that there’s plenty of restaurants within easy walking distance,” she said. “So we’ve got our pick.”

A few minutes and a short discussion found them walking down the narrow streets they had just recently driven on, headed for the restaurant they’d chosen. Jemma had a spring to her step, feeling light-hearted and almost giddy. She supposed it was the thrill of being at the start of an adventure with her best friend. They’d traveled together before, of course, for work conferences, and she’d even gone home with him to Glasgow once, but this was different. This was an international holiday, a proper _ experience_. They were going outside of their comfort zone to try something new together and they had two weeks full of culture and history and excitement waiting on them. Looking at Fitz walking beside her, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets and a small smile on his face as he looked at the buildings around them, Jemma knew he felt the same way.

Grimes was right. They were going to have a blast.

It didn’t take them long to reach the restaurant, and they were quickly shown to a table inside. According to the website they’d viewed it offered traditional Mediterranean cuisine that was heavy on grilled meats, which Fitz liked, but also offered a variety of salads, which was a plus for Jemma. Their host gave them each a menu and took their drink orders, then left them alone to decide what they wanted to eat.

“I’m glad the menu has English on it as well,” Fitz said as his eyes scanned over it. “Or else I’d be lost.”

Jemma glanced briefly up at him, smiling. “I’m sure if we asked politely, our server would have been willing to give us recommendations.”

He shrugged easily. “Still, I’d rather not put that on him.” He peered closer at the menu. “What’s the third language, the one above the Spanish?”

“Catalan, I think,” Jemma replied, looking at the appetizers. “It’s a regional language.”

“Ah.” Fitz flipped a page on the menu. “Bloody hell, look at all of the steaks. This is going to be a tough choice.”

In the end, he decided to go with a skirt steak and spicy fried potatoes while Jemma chose a goat’s cheese salad. Their portions were both larger than they anticipated, and there was some laughter as Fitz wondered whether or not he could eat his entire steak. Jemma stole a few of his fries to try and he halfheartedly batted her hands away. When they were both full, they lingered over second bottles of beer and discussed what they wanted to do in the morning before they had to be at the port to board the ship.

“Don’t you think we should sleep in a bit?” Fitz asked, rolling the neck of his bottle between two fingers. “Jet lag’s going to be awful, you know it’s always worse coming this way.”

Jemma shook her head. “We should at least_ try _ to get out and see the Sagrada Familia,” she said. “We can’t visit Barcelona and not make an effort.” The cathedral was perhaps the city’s most famous landmark and she really wanted to see it.

“But sleep,” Fitz argued, his voice close to wheedling. “I know we’re going to be up early almost every day, we should have a lie-in while we can.”

“We can have a nap in the afternoon once we’re on the ship, if we really need one,” she insisted. Seeing that he wasn’t convinced, she put on her most winsome smile. “Please? We’ll regret it if we traveled all this way and didn’t get to see anything in the city.”

Fitz gave her a shrewd look and took a long sip of his beer. “Alright,” he said at length. Jemma tried not to shimmy a victory dance in her seat. “But I’m definitely crashing on the ship in the afternoon if I need to.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “Maybe don’t say ‘crash’ when talking about the ship.”

He winced. “Hmm, yeah, maybe not.”

-:-

The hour was getting late when they made it back to the hotel, though the city around them was still bustling. Once they were in their room, Fitz went straight to his suitcase to dig out his toiletry bag and pajamas while Simmons turned on a lamp. “Hey, I’ve got dibs on the bathroom,” he said, holding up his bag for her to see. “Won’t be more than a minute.” When she nodded at him in acknowledgment, he turned to go start on his nightly routine.

Inside the bathroom, he made quick work of changing into his pajamas, then brushed his teeth. As he scrubbed, he eyed the reflection of the shower behind him in the mirror. It was large enough it had a bench built into the tile. Bloody hell, that was decadent. What did a hotel shower need a bench for?

He shook his head as he spit and rinsed, then carried his clothes back out and dumped them next to his suitcase. He could worry about packing them neatly in the morning. Seeing Simmons sitting on her bed reading her phone, he said, “Bathroom’s free.”

She looked up and smiled at him, then stood and picked up her pajamas, which were on the bed next to her. “You can turn on the telly if you like,” she said as she walked past him. “See if there’s anything good on.”

When Simmons came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Fitz was sitting up in bed, still flipping through the channels. His eyes lingered briefly on her as she passed in front of him; she was wearing just a camisole and cotton shorts, her preferred sleepwear for the warmer months. “Find anything?” she asked him as she folded up her clothes.

“Nah,” he replied, going through a few more channels. “It’s late, nothing’s really on. I was thinking about just setting it on Sky News and reading on my phone.”

Simmons set her clothes down in her suitcase and closed the lid. “Sounds like something fine to have on in the background while we read and settle down.”

Fitz shot her a bemused look. “You really think you’re going to fall asleep now? It’s only early evening back home. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for hours.” He made a face and slid down a little on his pillow, his chin sinking into his chest. “Tomorrow’s going to be _ great_.”

The look Simmons gave him was the one she reserved for when she thought he was being particularly difficult or stubborn. “We’ve been traveling all day,” she said as she climbed beneath the blankets of her own bed. “That’s more exhausting than you think it is, even if we were just sitting down most of the time. You’ll be sleepy soon.”

“If you say so,” he muttered, unconvinced, even as she snuggled down into her pillow and relaxed, by all appearances ready to knock out for the night.

But Simmons was right. Maybe it was just a culmination of the stress of the day, getting from one point to the next, sitting on the plane for so long, or having gotten up so early to begin with, but Fitz found himself nodding off as he tried to read a science article on his phone. After blinking himself back awake for the third time, he looked over at Simmons. She was sound asleep, resting on her side with her hands curled beneath her pillow, her face peaceful. He smiled softly, feeling a pulse of affection for her, and reached for the remote to turn off the television. Then he plugged in his phone to charge and switched off the lamp before shifting down to settle in to sleep himself. They were going to have a busy day tomorrow, and the better rested they were, the less of a pain he’d be to her.

-:- 

Early the next morning, Jemma dragged a moderately grumpy Fitz out of the hotel and into the sunshine, smiling at all of the pedestrians out on the plaza already going about their day.

“Why are we leaving without any breakfast?” Fitz complained. “This is barbaric. Couldn’t even spare time for some tea to go.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Fitz. Where I’m taking you will have a much wider variety of options than the hotel restaurant, _ and _ it qualifies as getting out and seeing some of the city.” She tossed him a confident smile. “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“It better be,” he groused, but she ignored him to focus on the GPS on her phone. She knew leaving the hotel without letting Fitz get any food in him was a risk, but she could withstand him being irritable for a few minutes now for the reward of what lay ahead at their destination. He would love it, she was sure.

Following the instructions on her GPS, they left the wide plaza their hotel was located on and moved onto a narrower street more typical of the Gothic Quarter, which was bordered on either side by a hodgepodge of tall, older buildings with shops and restaurants lining the street at ground level. Fitz looked at all of them with interest as they passed, especially the restaurants, and she even had to physically pull him away from a little gelato shop (“9 a.m. is too early for ice cream.” “It’s never too early for ice cream.” “_Fitz_\--”). Eventually the street dead-ended on a larger, tree-lined avenue with a wide pedestrian path running down the center. The path was filled with stalls and vendors selling flowers, art, souvenirs, and all sorts of other goods. Shoppers and tourists already packed the street, even at this early hour.

“This looks nice,” Fitz said, looking at a stall filled with baskets of colorful flowers as they passed by. “Are we near food?”

Jemma smiled and shook her head at his single-mindedness. “Almost. This is La Rambla. It’s a rather famous street and I thought we couldn’t pass up the chance to visit. But I found something even better for you while I was reading about it. Come on.” 

She gestured for him to follow her down the street. They only had to walk a short distance before they turned again, and Jemma led him under the entrance to a large, covered open-air market.

“This is La Boqueria,” she explained. “They’ve got almost every sort of food imaginable here. Meats, dairy, produce, sweets--and it’s all fresh.” She smiled at Fitz. “As soon as I read about it I knew this would be a place you’d like to see. I thought it would make a good spot for breakfast. What do you think?”

Fitz was staring at all of the stalls ahead of them--one with fresh fruit and juices to the left, and one with macarons and chocolates and truffles and sweets galore to the right--with his jaw hanging open. “Oh, this looks brilliant,” he said after a minute. “I think could eat everything here. Where do we even start?”

Jemma grinned, glad that he was pleased. “Well, let’s move _ away _ from the sweets so we can start you off with something healthy…”

They spent a while wandering the market, trying to get a feel for everything it had to offer. She was truly amazed; she would love to have something like this back home. Boston had farmer’s markets, but nothing on this scale: there was fresh fish, fruits and vegetables, meats sliced right in front of you, baked goods, gelato and fruit pops, coffee and tea, even Greek food. Her mouth was watering at all the choices she had. Fitz didn’t seem to be faring much better, his eyes wide as he looked longingly at every counter they passed.

In the end, they both decided to buy fresh rolls of bread along with some cheese and sliced _ jamón serrano _ to make their own breakfast sandwiches, along with cups of hot tea. Fitz added a few pieces of puff pastry dipped in chocolate that a neatly labeled sign called _ palmeras_, and Jemma selected a pear to go with her breakfast. Then they found a bar to sit at and eat.

“This was a great idea,” Fitz said happily around a mouthful of bread, cheese, and ham. He nudged his bag of _ palmeras _ toward her, inviting her to try one. “Thanks for bringing me.”

That made it worth it, Jemma thought--coaxing a grumbly Fitz from the hotel and listening to him complain the entire way. Knowing she’d done something to make him happy pleased her.

Once they were done eating, they left the market and strolled north up La Rambla, peeking at the different stalls as they went and joking about buying naff souvenirs as gifts for their parents. When they came to the end of the street where it let out onto the Plaça de Catalunya, they hailed a cab to take them across the city to the Sagrada Familia.

“I read a little about it when I was doing my undergrad,” Fitz said as they drove down another tree-lined street. “You know, with it being a bit of an engineering oddity and all, and having been under construction for so long. I have to admit, it’ll be cool to see it in person.”

Jemma couldn’t help her smug smile as she looked out the window at all the buildings as they passed. “See? I told you getting out today was a good idea.”

But books and photos couldn’t have prepared them for the actual thing. Both Jemma and Fitz stared in awe as their cab drove away, leaving them on the sidewalk outside the church. The famed spires seemed to twist endlessly up into the sky, and there were building cranes stretching even higher than that to assist with construction. From a distance, the intricate stone facade facing them almost looked like it was melting in the summer heat. Jemma took out her phone to snap a few photos.

“I don’t think pictures do it justice,” Fitz said, lifting a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “It’s_ huge_.”

“Just think of what it will look like when it’s finished,” Jemma added. “Can you imagine going all the way up to the top?”

Fitz made a face, shaking his head. “Eurgh, no. No thank you. You know I’m terrified of heights. Let’s just--come on, let’s go inside.”

They went to the ticket kiosk around the back of the basilica to purchase their tickets, then got in the line to go inside. Jemma had to check her bag at security, but then they were through. 

She felt the absurd urge to reach for Fitz’s hand once they were inside, stopping to stare once more while other visitors streamed in around them. She didn’t know where to look first: the gleaming marble floors, the pale stone pillars rising up to support an impossibly high vaulted ceiling, or the multitude of stained glass windows that let sunlight spill through in hues of yellow, green, and blue. It was incredibly beautiful, and even though Jemma wasn’t religious in the slightest, the atmosphere still pervaded her with a sense of calm and peace.

“It’s beautiful,” Fitz murmured beside her, echoing her thoughts. “My mum would love this.”

They took their time exploring, walking slowly across the transept and looking up at all of the unique sights and architectural shapes the church had to offer. They admired the light-ringed canopy that sheltered the terracotta Christ on the cross that hung in the apse, and went down into the crypt to see the tomb of Antoni Gaudi, the architect who had overseen much of the church’s early construction. Fitz told Jemma more about what he remembered regarding the building’s construction and history, and she waxed philosophic on the science of the colors of the light coming in through the windows.

By the time they left a little over an hour later, Jemma had a multitude of photos on her phone and Fitz was getting hungry again, so they caught another cab back to their hotel and had an early lunch of tapas at a little restaurant around the corner. Since they didn’t have to be at the port for a short while yet, they lingered over their drinks while Jemma uploaded some of the pictures she’d taken to her Instagram.

“We’ll have to remember to take some photos of _ us_, and not just the things we see,” she said, her eyes focused on her phone screen as she tapped at it. “So we’ll have reminders that we were actually here, too.”

“Oh, sure,” Fitz replied easily, sitting back. “Can’t be disappointing Grimes and his ilk.”

She glanced up at him as she set a filter on a photo of one of Sagrada Familia’s stained glass windows. “Do I detect a bit of sarcasm?”

He rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is that he seemed very interested in you posting photos of yourself.”

She gave him a penetrating stare. Was he implying their coworker had a thing for her? That was preposterous. “Of _ both _ of us,” she countered, and raised her phone to quickly steal a picture of him, lounging in his seat with a half-empty glass of beer in his hand.

Fitz frowned and sat back up. “Hey, did you just take a picture of me?”

Jemma merely smiled sweetly at him and started scrolling through filters.

-:- 

When it was finally time to head for port, they walked back to the hotel to collect their luggage and called one last cab. She’d been enjoying herself so far, but Jemma felt her enthusiasm kick up a notch. Now they were _ finally _on their way to board the ship and set off on the actual cruise, meaning their dream holiday would officially be underway. She couldn’t wait to get started and see the Mediterranean with Fitz.

There were several large cruise ships lined up along the docks as they came over the bridge to the terminals, and both Jemma and Fitz looked eagerly out the window in anticipation of which one would be theirs. Their cab eventually pulled into the center terminal, where a behemoth of a ship was docked--a dozen or more decks rising out of the sea with a gleaming white and blue hull, the tinted glass windows of the forward bridge shining in the sunlight.

“This is it!” Jemma said excitedly, looking up at the ship as they got out of the cab and the driver went around to fetch their luggage from the trunk. “This is our home for the next two weeks.”

Fitz grinned, his hands on his hips as he stepped up beside her. “I’ll try not to drive you too mad, yeah?”

She laughed and shook her head. “_Fitz_. If you haven’t done it yet as my roommate, you won’t now. Come on.”

The terminal was already packed with travelers queueing to board so they expected a bit of a wait, but when Jemma showed her boarding pass to one of the employees at the check-in desk, they were directed to a spacious lounge up on the second level that had far fewer people. There, they were met by a friendly-looking man in a starched white shirt and deep red waistcoat. 

“Simmons party?” he asked as they approached him. Jemma nooded, and he smiled. “Welcome! My name is Harold, but you can call me Harry. I’ll be serving as your personal butler for the duration of the voyage.” Jemma shot Fitz a quick look, her eyebrows raised, before turning her attention back to Harry. “If you’ll just leave your luggage with me, I can have it taken aboard and unpacked for you ahead of your arrival, and when everything is ready, I’ll escort you to your cabin. In the meantime, please help yourself to the complimentary snacks and drinks available here in the lounge.”

Once Harry had loaded their suitcases onto a cart and taken them away, Fitz turned to Jemma. “Personal butler?” he said in a low voice, sounding incredulous. “I guess we really are getting the full Tony Stark experience.”

“Well, Pepper _ did _ say we had a VIP package,” she replied, looking around the lounge. Everyone was dressed casually but impeccably; she suddenly felt a little self-conscious in her plain blouse and capris. “But I just assumed it would be something like… a club-level cabin.”

“Which is still not shabby at all,” Fitz said.

“No, not at all,” Jemma agreed, then headed in the direction of the tables set off to one side of lounge, piled high with tasty-looking finger foods and wine. Fitz followed.

“But unpacking our luggage for us?” he asked. “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Like a stranger just… handling your pants.”

She picked up a small glass of wine and sniffed it. “I’m sure he doesn’t think anything of it, it’s his job,” she said.

“Yeah, but… a stranger with his hands on your knickers.” The tips of his ears had gone pink.

She passed him the wine, which he took, and picked up another glass for herself. “It’s his _ job_, Fitz.”

“I wouldn’t touch your knickers, and I know you,” he mumbled before taking a sip, but Jemma pretended like she hadn’t heard him.

Despite having recently eaten lunch, Fitz had still helped himself to half a steak quesadilla and a plate of cheese by the time Harry came back. “Are you ready to board now?” he asked, clapping his hands together.

“Oh, yes,” Jemma replied, while Fitz simply nodded--his mouth was too full of Manchego to respond properly. 

Harry just smiled. “Follow me.”

He led them across the lounge and to a large set of double doors, not unlike the jet bridge to a plane, that opened up onto the gangway to the ship. Jemma felt another tingle of excitement race through her as they crossed it, and she tossed Fitz a happy smile, which he returned. They came onto the ship’s outer deck from the gangway and immediately went through another set of doors that led to a large holding area with a bank of elevators on the far end.

“This is where you’ll go to disembark for all of your shore excursions,” Harry explained as they headed for the elevators. “And these elevators go all the way up to Deck 16, which is not quite the top. Your cabin is on Deck 14, which should give you some nice views from your balcony.” He smiled as he hit the call button for the elevators; one of them opened immediately, and they got on. The walls, which were all glass, were obscured by the lift tube around them, but that changed as they started to go up. The tube ended and they were treated to a view of a large atrium, three stories high, full of light and glass and gleaming tiled floors, highlighted by two spiral staircases that wound up from the bottom to the top floor. Jemma couldn’t help but let out a quiet noise of awe and appreciation.

“We call this the Plaza,” Harry said as the elevator continued to rise. “It’s basically the central hub for all ship activities on the lower decks. It’s a good meeting place and provides access to most of the dining areas and shops, along with guest services and the spa.” He chuckled. “You’ll probably find yourself here a lot.”

The elevator moved back into an enclosed tube once it rose past the top floor of the Plaza, and a moment later came to a stop on Deck 14. The doors opened and Harry led them down a narrow hallway, smiling and nodding at other passengers they passed along the way. Eventually he came to a stop outside a door labeled R606 and pulled two gold-colored key cards from his pocket.

“I’ve got your key cards here,” he said, swiping one over the lock and turning the handle on the door. “I’ll leave them on the desk for you in the cabin.”

Jemma followed him inside and was immediately confused. Instead of seeing beds and perhaps a small seating area by a balcony like she had expected, there was--a short hallway, and a door immediately to her right that she assumed (hoped, rather) led to a bathroom or a closet. But a hallway?

Behind her, she could hear Fitz make a soft, baffled noise that matched how she felt. But it turned into a squawk of shock as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall and got a good look at what their cabin really looked like.

It was _ huge_. Far larger than what she had been expecting, and very big for just two people. They were in a wide living area that had two--_two!_\--sets of sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony, a small table with two chairs grouped around it, a desk set into the wall, and a sofa and two armchairs with a low table against the far wall. Next to that, she could see a set of sliding pocket doors that led to an entirely separate room where the beds were. She couldn’t even see a door to the bathroom, it was that large. 

And not only was it big, it was opulent. Everything was decorated in tones of cream and brown, accented with a warm orange-red; there was an expensive-looking flatscreen TV hung on the wall, and--just like their hotel--there was a vase of fresh, real flowers sitting in the middle of the table nearest them. The ceiling had recessed lighting, the desk had a faux granite top, the furniture looked plush and comfortable, and what she could see of the bedding looked just as luxurious as everything else.

Jemma stared, her mouth open in surprise. “Bloody hell,” said Fitz, standing next to her. He tore his gaze away from the room long enough to look at her. “Did you know it was this big?”

“_No_,” Jemma replied emphatically, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t. Pepper said it was an upgraded suite, but this--”

“--Is really overdoing it,” he said with feeling. “_Thank you_, Tony Stark.”

Harry was watching them with an expression of amusement, his hands folded in front of him. “Does the cabin meet your approval?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Fitz murmured, slowly walking deeper into the room, while Jemma turned to Harry, twisting her hands together at her chest.

“It’s--it’s _ very _ nice,” she said, trying and failing not to gush. “It’s more than we expected, but it’s--yes, it’s very nice.”

“Excellent.” Harry smiled, then gestured at the table in front of them. “Your complimentary champagne is here.” He nodded at a small bucket full of ice that she hadn’t noticed before, in which a small bottle was resting. Two crystal flutes sat nearby. “And over here,” he added, walking over to a small cabinet in between the balcony doors, “we have your minibar, which I can restock free of charge at any point during the voyage, and your coffee maker and kettle. You’ll find the bathroom and the closet through the bedroom there.”

Jemma opened her mouth to thank him, but was interrupted by Fitz. “Hey, Simmons?” he said, and the tone of his voice was very different from the awe of just a moment ago. “Come here and look at this.”

Frowning in concern, she turned and went to join Fitz, who was standing at the pocket doors leading into the bedroom and staring at the bed. “What is it?” she asked, but he just pointed at the bed and put his hands on his hips. She looked at it again, and it took a moment for realization to dawn. _ The _ bed. Not two beds, two twin beds pushed together or separated by a nightstand like they had been at their hotel, but one singular bed. A large bed, for sure, but still a lone, solitary bed.

“Oh,” she said.

“Is there a problem?” Harry asked from behind them. 

“Yeah. Um--” Fitz swallowed and turned around, two spots of pink high on his cheeks. “There’s only the one bed? And um, we’re not--I mean, we--” He gestured between himself and Jemma. “We don’t--”

“We’re not together,” Jemma finished, pasting on a smile. “In a relationship, I mean.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. “Oh,” he said, in much the same way that Jemma had. “Oh, I see. Well--”

“Does the sofa pull out?” Fitz asked hopefully. Jemma looked at him in surprise, but before she could say anything, Harry shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. Here, let me make a few phone calls and see if I can get this straightened out for you.”

While Harry went to the phone that sat on the recessed desk, Fitz turned to Jemma. “How did this happen?” he hissed quietly. “You didn’t accidentally ask for a single bed or something when you sent in the paperwork, did you?”

“No!” Jemma whispered hotly. “There wasn’t even anything like that on the form. I did stipulate that you were my roommate, though, when it asked for your relationship to me. And we had separate beds at the hotel. I’m sure this is just an unfortunate mixup and Harry can get us sorted in no time.”

“He better,” Fitz mumbled.

The click of a phone receiver dropping back into its cradle drew their attention, and they looked over to see Harry taking a step back toward them with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, but all cabins either equal or superior to yours have been booked. We can still move you to a different cabin with separate beds, but it will be a lesser one than this.”

Fitz looked like he was about to agree, but Jemma couldn’t let him. Pepper--and Tony, she supposed--had done them a wonderful service booking them this fabulous suite, and they couldn’t turn that down. Plus, Harry had already gone to the trouble of unpacking all of their things; she didn’t want him to go through the hassle of repacking and moving everything. She and Fitz could simply share the bed. It was plenty big enough for two people.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, giving Harry her best polite smile. “We can share the bed.”

Fitz’s head whipped toward her. “What?” he wheezed, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

“We can share the bed,” she repeated firmly, turning her smile on him. His eyes were wide, somewhere between panicked and horrified, but she ignored them to face Harry again. “We’ll be just fine.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, peering worriedly at Fitz. “I really do apologize for the inconvenience.”

Jemma shook her head. “It’s not an inconvenience,” she reassured him. She could see Fitz gawping at her out of the corner of her eye. “We’ll be very happy here.”

Harry didn’t look completely convinced, but instead he asked, “Is there anything else I can do before departure to make your stay more enjoyable?”

“Uh--” Fitz had found his voice again. “Could you bring an extra blanket?”

“Certainly.” Harry inclined his head at them and turned to leave.

Once he was gone, Fitz rounded on her. “Are you mad?” he exclaimed. “We can’t share the bed!”

“Why not?” Jemma asked. “It’s not like we never slept in the same bed at the Academy.”

Fitz’s jaw worked for a second. “Yeah, but that--that wasn’t--it wasn’t on _ purpose_,” he said. “It was always because we’d stayed up late studying or you were too drunk to make it back to yours. And we were fully clothed.”

She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at him. “Were you planning on sleeping in the nude?”

His face flushed crimson. “_No_!” he yelped. “But--sharing a bed with you--it’s just--”

Jemma rolled her eyes and took off her small crossbody bag, setting it down next to the sofa. “Just pretend like I’m a sibling then, if it bothers you that much,” she said, a tiny plume of confused hurt rising at the fact that he was being so resistant.

Fitz’s face went straight from displeased to downright disgusted. “Ugh, Simmons, you are not my _ sister_.” He smacked his lips like he’d tasted something vile. “I just--I don’t want to be… you know, improper, or cross any boundaries.”

Jemma rolled her eyes again and sighed. “Fitz, we’d be sleeping together, not _ sleeping together_. You’re not going to damage my precious honor or anything by being on the same mattress.”

His cheeks still red, this time Fitz crossed his arms and looked away. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I can kip on the sofa.”

“Ugh, _ Fitz_. You can’t be serious.” Jemma looked at the sofa, which didn’t even look like it was long enough for him to fully stretch out on. “You can’t sleep on the sofa, not for two whole weeks. You’ll be miserable.”

Fitz only crossed his arms tighter over his chest. “Watch me.”

Jemma sighed again. She didn’t want to argue with him, especially not over something like this, so for the moment she was willing to let it drop. “I’m going to have a look at the rest of the room,” she said, and resolutely turned away from him to go inspect the minibar.

She heard him walk away as she knelt down to open the door of the cabinet, finding the small minifridge inside. Just as she expected, it was filled with tiny bottles of a few different sorts of liquor, two bottles of water, some ginger ale, and a couple of cans of Coke. She’d just stood to inspect the coffee and tea supplies on top of the cabinet when she heard Fitz say, “Christ. Simmons, come here and look at this bathroom.”

Curious, she turned and walked through the bedroom--which had its own recessed desk and flatscreen television--to find a door that led into a rather large walk-in closet, for a ship. She noted all of their clothes that had been hung up and their suitcases sat neatly next to the built-in drawers before focusing on Fitz, whose voice had come from another door just inside that of the closet. Stepping inside, she let out a small gasp.

The bathroom was definitely larger than the one in their apartment back home in Boston, and far, far nicer. Almost every surface was covered in dark grey faux marble tile, from the floor to the countertop to the walls, even around the tub and the shower. The tub was jetted--a luxury they didn’t even have at home--and the shower looked to be double the size of their apartment’s, with a rainfall showerhead and a tiny seat built into a corner. The bathroom even had a double vanity, which was another thing their apartment didn’t have but Jemma longed for. A door immediately to the right of the entrance led to a small half bath, which held the toilet and another sink, and a connecting door which she supposed led to the hallway.

“We are definitely being spoiled,” she said, giving the tub a speculative look, wondering if she would have time one evening for a nice soak with the jets going. “We might want to send Pepper a fruit basket.”

“Something like that, yeah,” Fitz said quietly, rubbing his jaw. “Or something nicer, if they’d just gotten the beds right.”

Jemma sighed yet again. She hoped his mood wasn’t a sign of things to come.

-:-

They stayed in their suite until the ship officially set sail. Harry brought the promised blanket to rather pointed thanks from Fitz, who set it down in one of the armchairs before flopping back down on the sofa and picking back up the remote to flip through the channels on the living area’s television. Jemma, who was sitting in the other armchair browsing a brochure on the ship’s amenities that she’d found on the desk, ignored him. He wasn’t going to sleep on the sofa. She wouldn’t let him. They’d just have to go a few more rounds at bedtime before she wore him down.

Shortly after the ship left dock they had their muster drill, where everyone on the ship practiced what to do in case of an emergency. They followed the directions on the sign fixed to the back of their cabin’s door on where to go, and spent a good several minutes milling around with other passengers on the deck next to the lifeboats before they were allowed to return to their cabins.

They decided to take a tour of the ship instead, wanting to familiarize themselves with all of the amenities so they would have an easier time getting around in the evenings for dinner and during their one day at sea. The started in the Plaza, peeking inside all of the shops and locating several little cafés and bars (Fitz was particularly interested in the gelato counter). One of the main dining rooms was also on the same deck, but Jemma had a feeling she knew where they would be headed the most when they took the elevator up to the higher decks and found the buffet dining room on the pool deck. They even took a walk out past the pool itself, noting the outdoor bars and grills tucked around it as other options for places to eat. Jemma didn’t know if she’d be able to coax Fitz out for a swim, but she’d brought her swimsuit just in case, of course, and she’d made sure that he’d packed his trunks. 

They wound up having a light, casual dinner in the ship’s main dining room back down on the bottom Plaza deck, and spent a good while people watching as they ate and talking about which ports and activities they were looking forward to the most. Jemma, having handled booking their excursions almost all by herself, knew Fitz would be in for a surprising treat almost every day.

But when night fell and they were both tired and worn out from jet lag, Fitz was still insistent upon sleeping on the sofa.

“You can’t even stretch out on it,” Jemma pointed out, standing in the doorway to the bathroom and brandishing her toothbrush, already clad in her camisole and sleep shorts. “You’ll get cramps. You’ll wake up in the morning all sore and grumpy, and I do _ not _want to have to deal with you being grouchy this entire holiday.”

Fitz, who was likewise dressed in a white tee and plaid flannel bottoms, fluffed the pillow he’d stolen from the bed and set it down on one end of the sofa. “I won’t be grumpy,” he said. He repositioned the pillow. “Much.”

Jemma groaned and stamped her foot. “Fitz. Just sleep in the bed. Please? You’ll thank yourself for it in the morning.”

Fitz shook his head as he spread the extra blanket out over the sofa. “I’ll be fine. Just go on and go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

There it was again, the curious and baffled hurt that Fitz apparently found her so hideous or unbearable that he couldn’t stand to spend even one night in the same bed as her. It completely sapped the fight from her and her shoulders sagged as she watched him sit down on the sofa and swing his legs up onto it, starting to get settled. She couldn’t help it if he wanted to be stubborn as a mule, but she didn’t want to press the issue and possibly spark a true row between them. Frowning, she turned to go into the bathroom and brush her teeth.

Twenty minutes later, however, she was feeling a different way again.

She was lying in the middle of the large bed, curled up on her side, staring out at the dim, muted moonlight she could see coming through the sheer curtains that overlaid the balcony doors. She couldn’t see Fitz, but she could hear him. He’d tossed and turned a fair bit already, whuffling quietly, but in the relative silence of their cabin it might as well have been gunshots. She knew he wasn’t asleep. And it was all just making Jemma annoyed again, that he was deliberately making himself suffer out of… what? Pride? A misplaced sense of chivalry?

Finally, she sighed. “Fitz, I can _ hear _ you being uncomfortable.”

“Cannot,” came his voice out of the dark after a pause, more than a little surly.

Jemma rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes, I can. You’ve been tossing and turning for fifteen minutes and--and huffing.”

“I am not _ huffing_,” he shot back petulantly. “I’m sighing. You know, a normal part of winding down and going to sleep.”

She shifted onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Why are you being so stubborn? Have you got it into your head that I’m some virtuous maiden whose chastity needs protecting? You may have forgotten, Fitz, but I am _ not _ a vir--”

“I know! I know,” Fitz cried. “And no, it’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know.” He fell silent for a moment. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Jemma sighed again. “You won’t bother me. But… _ please_. Come sleep in the bed. I won’t bite, I promise. And you’ll feel so much better in the morning.”

There was another pause before she heard him heave a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he muttered at length, and his blanket rustled. “Budge over, I’m coming in.”

She barely had time to feel a burst of triumph before Fitz’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, clutching his pillow. She quickly scooted to the far side of the bed and turned the blankets down on his side, patting the mattress. “There you go,” she said. “See, there’s plenty of room for you.”

“Sure,” he said, and plopped the pillow down before carefully climbing into bed and curling up on his side, facing away from her. Then he pulled the blankets up to his shoulder and let out a long breath. “I won’t be held responsible for keeping you up if I snore,” he added.

“I’d hear you if you were out on the sofa, so it doesn’t matter,” she replied, settling back down against her pillow and getting comfortable. “But you don’t snore.” She stared at his back, a mere foot or so away. “Goodnight, Fitz.”

“G’night, Simmons,” he replied, his voice cracking on a yawn. Then he fell quiet, and Jemma closed her eyes with a smile, determined to finally get some rest. She’d won this battle, just as she’d known she could, and at the very least Fitz would be fifty percent less of an arse come morning as a result.


	3. Monte Carlo

When Jemma woke up the next morning, it was to find Fitz less than an arm’s span away from her on the bed, lying on his back with one hand on his stomach and his mouth hanging slightly open. Her first thought was that he looked almost angelic, his face completely relaxed in sleep with the light spilling through the glass balcony doors picking out highlights in his hair. The second was that it reminded her of mornings after late nights spent studying at the Academy, though now they were in a much larger, nicer bed. Back at SciTech, they’d crammed into one of their single twin beds, their backs to each other or her back to his front with as much space between them as they could manage without Jemma falling off the bed. She’d always woken up first there, too, and slipped out of bed before Fitz could wake up and get all awkward.

She didn’t feel any need to get up now. There was plenty of space in the bed, so they weren’t all smushed up on each other, and besides, they were adults now--not achingly shy teenagers. They could handle sharing a bed.

That, and jet lag was kicking in. The bed was exceedingly comfortable and she did _ not _want to get up just yet, no matter what exciting activities the day had in store for them.

So she laid there in a half-doze, observing the way the sunlight traced the outline of Fitz’s face and idly turning over fond memories of the Academy, until the alarm on her phone went off, piercing the stillness with its shrill tone.

Fitz’s eyes snapped open as he jerked awake, and when Jemma rolled back over from turning the alarm off, he had edged toward the far side of the bed and was watching her warily through sleepy eyes. “Um,” he said, his throat bobbing.

Well. So much for not being awkward. “Good morning,” she said, opting to act as though nothing was amiss, and smothered a yawn behind one hand. “How did you rest?”

“Uh.” Fitz swallowed again and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than it already did. “Good. Yeah, good. The bed feels… nice.”

Jemma tried not to look smug and failed horribly. “Nicer than the sofa?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. When he simply dropped his head back down on the pillow, grumbling quietly, she sat up and grinned, fully relishing her victory. “Well, as much as it would be nice to have a lie-in, we’ve got a full day ahead of us, so we need to get up. Would you like to have the bathroom first?”

Fitz shook his head, his eyes closed. “No, you can go ahead. I know you…” He waved a hand at her. “I know it takes longer for you to get ready.”

There was a part of her that wanted to prove him wrong, that she could be ready to go for the day just as quickly as he could, but Jemma found herself hard-pressed to do so once she was actually in the shower. The rainfall showerhead was an even nicer luxury than she’d expected, making her feel like she was standing in a heated downpour, and the stall was so large she could almost stretch both of her arms out in any direction and not touch a wall. It was tempting to linger and enjoy the warmth of the water for as long as she could, but they really did have a schedule to keep and she knew that if Fitz would want to spend more time anywhere, it would be at breakfast.

When she came back into the bedroom after toweling off, dressed in one of the fluffy robes she’d found in the walk-in closet, Fitz was still in bed but was scrolling through his phone, and had the television turned on to the ship’s information channel. He glanced up as she entered, then did a quick double-take before looking back down at his phone.

“Um, so I know we’ve got our own butler and all, but do you think we could try the buffet for breakfast?” he asked, scratching behind his ear. “They’ve got a waffle station.” He nodded up at the TV. “Just saw it on the info channel.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile; of course he was thinking with his stomach and wanted something sugary. She could name at least a dozen healthier options for him to eat, but as long as he ate a full meal she couldn’t criticize him _ too _ much. Besides, they were on holiday. They could afford to indulge a little.

“The buffet sounds fine,” she said, and reached out to bat at his foot where it lay beneath the blankets as she passed by to set her compact travel hair dryer down on the little recessed vanity. He huffed and jerked it back, shooting her an accusatory glare. “The bathroom’s all free now, if you want to go in,” she added, pulling out the stool and sitting down. “But if you don’t want to be rushed eating, you should be quick.”

“Yeah, yeah, woman, I’m going,” Fitz grumbled, but there was no real rancor in his voice. She heard the blankets rustle as he sighed and got out of bed, and then he padded behind her, running a hand through his hair again. “So what are we doing today?”

“Monte Carlo,” Jemma replied, pulling a comb through her damp hair. “I’ve got everything planned, you’ll see.”

“Right,” he said as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. “Don’t tell me we’re gambling.”

She smiled to herself again. He was in for a surprise.

-:- 

The buffet hall was crowded with fellow passengers when they arrived, which didn’t surprise Fitz in the least. Who would pass up the chance to choose their own breakfast _ and _ get as much of it as they wanted? Not him, certainly. The downside, though, was that seating seemed to be at a premium, and he stood with Simmons just inside the doors for a moment, scanning their options.

“Should I go save us some seats while you go get your breakfast?” Simmons asked.

Fitz pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, you should probably do that. Look--there’s some seats empty right over there.” He pointed to where he’d just spotted two chairs facing each other on the end of a long table. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

Simmons nodded and set off to secure their seats, and he turned to look for the promised build-your-own-waffles. It took him a minute of walking around the buffet to find it, and when he did, he groaned beneath his breath at the long line leading up to the station. He supposed that was the price he would have to pay for a stack of waffles loaded down with every sort of topping he could imagine, and resigned himself to wait. He silently sent out an apology to Simmons and joined the line. 

He’d only been there a minute or so when a voice pulled him from his daydreams of waffles slathered in Nutella.

“Busy in here, isn’t it?” 

He looked around, wondering if the voice was talking to him, and turned to find an older woman standing behind him, smiling expectantly. He huffed a slightly awkward laugh in return and nodded, looking first to the line in front of them and then the rest of the bustling buffet. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he said, just to be polite.

The woman’s smile widened. “What’s your name?”

His eyebrows went up, and he turned for a second to shuffle forward as the line moved. “Me? I’m Fitz.”

She nodded approvingly. “I’m Janet.” She was short, with close-cropped grey hair and a friendly face, dressed in bright capris and a breezy linen tunic. “You know,” she added, “you look to be about the same age as my granddaughter, Ashley.”

“Really?” Fitz replied, for lack of anything better to say. “Um--that’s nice.” He looked back in the direction of the table he’d left Simmons at, wishing she was there with him. Maybe then he wouldn’t be stuck making small talk with a stranger. That was more her forte than his.

Janet was nodding again. “Yes, you really do.” She paused. “Are you here alone?”

Fitz squinted at her. Was she normally like this, asking strangers lots of questions? Besides, who went on a cruise alone? “Er, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m here with my best friend.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the table Simmons had snagged, then stepped forward as the line moved again. 

Janet smiled. “Oh, that’s nice, it’s so much more fun traveling with friends. I’m here with several ladies from my church.” Apparently deciding that they, too, were friends now, she stepped closer to him. “So what do you do?”

He glanced longingly in Simmons’ general direction again. “I’m an engineer,” he said for the sake of being civil, and left it at that. There was no telling how this woman would react if he said he worked for a spy organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Oh, how impressive,” Janet replied, moving forward in line with him. “My Ashley is a yoga instructor, but she loved science when she was in school.”

Fitz made a noncommittal noise. He could practically picture the type of person Janet described: memorized the periodic table once and could accurately diagram a Punnett square, but that was the limit of their scientific expertise. He knew it was snobbish of him, but years of being so far ahead of his peers and dealing with the “oh, you’re good with science as well?” from the parents of other children his age had taught him that it was impossible for anyone to impress him.

(Simmons was the only one who had managed it, so far.)

Looking ahead, he saw that he was nearly at the front of the line. Soon, he would have waffles and be free of excruciating small talk. Without thinking, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Behind him, Janet politely cleared her throat. “Are you dating anyone right now?”

Fitz turned to her with wide eyes, nearly choking on his tongue. Was she--? She wasn’t _ hitting _ on him, was she? A little manic, he glanced down at her hands, searching for any sign of a wedding ring, but couldn’t see one. _ Bugger. _ She was hitting on him and she was his gran’s age. “No?” he managed, hoping he was saying the right thing.

Janet laughed lightly. “Really? You mean a nice, handsome young man like yourself isn’t already taken?”

He edged toward the waffle station. “No?” he said again, feeling extremely awkward and rudderless. “I guess not?” He’d only gone on a handful of dates since the Academy and none of them had turned into anything long-term. He just figured he was bad at girls, or people in general, but he wasn’t particularly bothered by that failure most of the time--he had Simmons for company and their work to keep him busy.

Somehow, Janet seemed to find his discomfort charming instead of off-putting, because she smiled again. “Ah, I see,” she said. “Ashley isn’t seeing anyone right now, either.”

_Oh_. She wanted to set him up with her granddaughter, who was guaranteed to not be his type at all. Still awkward as arse, considering she was a stranger--he didn’t know which was worse, that, or the idea that she’d wanted him for herself. “Ah,” he mumbled. “That’s--um--” Looking for any avenue of escape, he turned around and found that he was finally at the front of the line. “Aha,” he said, this time in triumph. Snatching up a plate, he held it up for Janet to see. “Finally made it to the front. Um, enjoy your waffles.”

He was quick to turn around and busy himself stacking his plate, then moving on to the condiments. He couldn’t wait to get back to their table. As soon as he’d covered his waffles in Nutella and syrup (and a few strawberries for Simmons’ benefit) and added some bacon, sausage, and a mug of hot tea to his tray, he beat a hasty retreat.

“So, that was strange,” he said as he set his tray down across from Simmons and slid into his seat. She looked up from where she’d been scrolling through her phone, giving him a curious look. 

“What was?” she asked.

He waved a hand. “Eh, never mind. I’m sorry I made you wait so long, the line was horrible. Go get some food and I’ll tell you when you get back.”

Simmons nodded with a quick smile and stood to head for the buffet, leaving her phone behind on the table in front of him. 

Fitz took one bite of his waffles--fluffy and thick, Belgian-style, and extremely delicious--before deciding to wait for Simmons to come back, not wanting to inhale his entire meal in the time it took her to find her own food. Instead, he took out his own phone and did some light cursory internet searches on Monaco until she came back. When she set her tray down in front of him, he saw that she’d selected a bowl of hot oatmeal, a banana, and a slice of melon along with a mug of tea like his own. She raised an eyebrow at his mostly-untouched food, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Tell me what was strange,” she said instead, getting settled in her seat.

He made a face as he picked his fork back up. “So I met this older lady in line and she started grilling me with questions, asking me what my name was, what I do, and told me all about her granddaughter--”

“Oh no,” Simmons murmured, but she sounded highly amused, a smile curving up the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, and she asked me if I was single.” Fitz’s expression shifted to downright disgruntled. “At first I thought she was asking for herself--”

“Oh, _ Fitz_\--”

“But no, I think she wanted to try and set me up with her granddaughter, who she said just _ loves _ science.” He dragged the word out, derision dripping from his tone. “She’s a yoga instructor, Simmons. _ Yoga_.” He stabbed his fork into a sausage. “I’d be crying into my dinner after five minutes out of sheer boredom.”

Simmons looked like she was smothering a wider grin behind her tea. “Well, for all you know, she could be a very nice girl, and very intelligent,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumped, and took a bite of his sausage. After he’d chewed and swallowed, he added, “I didn’t come on this cruise to pick up girls, you know.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Simmons was still smiling, that infuriating one she got when she was having a good laugh at his expense. “That’s a pity. I bet Grimes would have loved to see photos of that.”

Fitz shot her a dark look. “I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

She set her tea down and picked up her spoon, dipping it into her oatmeal. “It _ is _ funny. But--I wouldn’t want you to run off with a girl, because then who would I see the sights with? Touring the Mediterranean alone just wouldn’t be as fun.”

Simmons was still cheerful and teasing, but there was something else in her voice that made Fitz want to put any fears she might have immediately to rest. “That,” he said firmly, thinking of how ridiculous and unlikely it was that he would find a girl who interested him here, “is never going to happen.”

Simmons beamed.

-:-

They ran into Janet again when they headed down to disembark from the ship. “Christ, there she is,” Fitz muttered, trying to duck behind Simmons and hide, but it was too late--the other woman had already seen them and was headed in their direction.

“Hello again!” she said cheerfully. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

Fitz nodded, resigning himself to another round of small talk. “Yeah, the waffles were great.”

Janet turned her smile on Simmons. “Is this your friend you said you were with?” she asked him. “You didn’t mention she was a girl.”

He fought the urge to groan. She really _ was _ sniffing around, eager to set him up, if she was fixating on the fact that Simmons was female. Simmons herself looked bemused at her interest, but didn’t say anything, leaving him to flounder. “Well--yes, this is her, my best friend,” he said with a slightly stilted laugh. “She’s also my roommate--”

“And we work together,” Simmons added helpfully with a smile. 

Janet’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, my. You really are like two peas in a pod then, aren’t you!”

Fitz nodded fervently, hoping they were giving the impression of a strictly two-pea pod, without room for any more. “Yes, that’s us,” he said.

Behind them, one of the ship’s crew unlocked the doors to the outer deck and opened them, allowing passengers to exit down the gangway and into the port terminal. As they walked, Janet turned to look at them over her shoulder. “Are you heading out on any excursions?” she asked.

“No,” Fitz replied, and jerked a thumb at Simmons. “But she’s got a whole day planned, apparently.”

Simmons nodded enthusiastically. “I researched the city and made an itinerary that I think will be very enjoyable for both of us.”

Janet laughed, even if she looked a little disappointed. “I’m taking the bus to Nice and Cannes. I hope you two have fun!”

They said their goodbyes and Janet headed for the buses, leaving Fitz and Simmons to walk toward the terminal entrance and the taxi rank. “So what _ do _ you have planned for us today?” he asked. “You haven’t told me.”

Simmons smiled at him, her eyes bright. “A few things,” she said mysteriously, “that I think you will really enjoy. Come on, let’s go.”

They hailed a cab and took a ride down a narrow, winding street with beautiful views of the city--Fitz still couldn’t quite believe they were in Monaco of all places, it felt a bit like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous--and through a long, dark tunnel before exiting again onto another narrow street that curved up and around a steep hill. Their destination turned out to be a large, gorgeous white stone building set along the cliff’s edge that proclaimed itself to be the Musée Océanographique de Monaco.

“Why do I feel like this is more for you than it is for me?” Fitz teased as they walked to the entrance, seeing the excitement on Simmons’ face.

She lightly smacked his arm, grinning. “Shush. There’s plenty of things here for you to see, too.”

She was right. There was plenty of novel odds and ends in the museum’s ‘Cabinet of Curiosities’ to look at: skeletons and fossils, which were more Simmons’ speed, but also old books and tools and gadgets--even an antique diving suit, which he found fascinating. There was also a full-size display of the laboratory aboard Prince Albert’s research yacht _ L’Hirondelle II_, dating back to 1913. Simmons was particularly captivated by that, pointing out all of the vintage equipment and ample storage space in the wooden cabinets.

“Can you imagine working in a mobile lab like that?” she said, clasping her hands together. “Of course, any lab like that today would have vastly superior equipment and supplies, but just think of it--being able to do our work anywhere, anytime, wherever we’re needed most.”

Fitz smiled, his eyes roaming over the wax models of the prince and his fellow scientists working at their stations. “I dunno. I kind of like where we are now.” He looked aside at her. “It doesn’t move. It’s safe.”

She gave him a gently exasperated look. “Oh, _ Fitz. _ Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“Right here,” he replied, grinning wider when she rolled her eyes at him. “I’m having an adventure with you right now. And besides, we’d have to pass our field assessment before we could have a lab like that.”

Simmons’ enthusiasm dimmed slightly, which he almost felt bad about--almost. But then she perked back up, a renewed glint of determination in her eye, and she said, “You’ll see. We’ll do it, someday.”

Fitz laughed. “Whatever you say, Simmons.”

In the next room, they admired the large skeletons of various species of whale hanging from the ceiling before heading downstairs to the tactile pool. Fitz was hesitant to put his hands in the water and touch the starfish, hermit crabs, and other tiny creatures--he was afraid they would feel too slimy for his tastes--but with Simmons’ patient encouragement he finally did, and actually enjoyed petting the tiny young sharks that swam throughout the pool. She got a photo of him with one, his arm outstretched and a wide smile on his face, and promised to upload it to her Instagram later.

“Everyone from the lab will love it,” she told him. “You touched a _ shark_.”

Then they went down to the lower level of the museum to visit the aquarium. They spent a while in front of the giant water tank that housed the museum’s larger fauna, where Fitz listened to Simmons ramble on at length about the corals the museum grew and studied, before taking a stroll through the smaller exhibits. He decided he’d had enough when Simmons got distracted by a small tank of piranhas and proceeded to talk at length about how quickly they could clean the meat off a bone, which left him feeling rather green around the gills.

So he dragged her back outside and next door to a small park that hugged the cliffside overlooking the sea. They strolled down the shady tree-lined paths for awhile, Simmons pointing out species of tree or shrub that were unique to the Mediterranean, until they found an open viewpoint on the cliff’s edge that provided a breathtaking view of the sea. Simmons immediately pulled out her phone to take photos, and even convinced him to take a selfie with her.

They came out of the park across from Monaco Cathedral, another lovely white stone building flanked by palm trees. Simmons took a few more pictures for her collection while Fitz looked around at the mass of mopeds crowding the park exit next to them, all of the expensive cars passing them by on the road, and the beautiful architecture surrounding them. 

“What do you think about lunch?” he asked, absently rubbing his stomach. “I could use some food.”

Simmons glanced over at him from where she was taking another photo of some nearby buildings. “Already?” There was a teasing twist to her smile. “I feel like we just had breakfast.”

“Yeah, well… I’m hungry.” He shrugged, looking at his wristwatch. “And it’s been a solid few hours since we last ate. It’ll be an early lunch, but it’s not too soon.”

Her smile softened, morphing into the one she gave him when she was feeling especially fond of him. “Alright. Let’s see what we can find.”

They ended up going to a restaurant hidden away on a little street behind the cathedral. It was a beautiful day, so they chose to sit outside at one of the tables tucked under the awning to enjoy the weather. Simmons ordered a Mediterranean salad while Fitz opted to get a small pizza with chorizo, peppers, and olives. She ribbed him about going abroad and getting something as generic as a pizza, but he insisted that it was _ international _ pizza, and therefore much better than anything he could get in Boston. She didn’t turn him down when he offered her a bite, however, and agreed that it was actually very good.

-:-

“So where to now?” Fitz asked once they’d left the restaurant.

Jemma smiled as he followed her down the narrow street. “You’ll see,” she said, keeping a bit of mystery in her voice. “I planned some things to do with you in mind, since you thought the museum was more for me.” She grinned at him, and he smiled back--she knew he’d only been teasing her. “But we have one quick stop along the way.”

The street they were on let out onto a large plaza, on the far end of which stood the Prince’s Palace, home to Monaco’s royal family and another museum which was open to the public. Groups of tourists milled about taking photos and selfies, browsed the shops that bordered their end of the plaza, or headed for the shade of the trees that lined the walls overlooking the city on either adjacent side. Standing out among them was a man in a crisp white uniform marching stiffly over to a tiny little gatehouse next to the front entrance to the palace.

“Oh, look, they’re doing the changing of the guard,” Jemma said. “Just what I wanted to see.”

As they watched, the guard came to a stop next to the gatehouse and snapped a salute at the man standing just inside, who was likewise dressed in a white uniform. They proceeded to shuffle about, switching places in what looked like a tried and true ritualistic manner.

“Have you ever seen the changing of the guard at Buckingham?” Fitz asked her as she snapped a photo on her phone.

“Once,” she replied. “When I was very young and I took a trip to London with my parents, before I was skipped ahead in school. I thought it was very boring. I wanted to go to the British Museum.”

He laughed lightly. “Of course you did. So you don’t think it’s boring now?” He nodded in the direction of the gatehouse, where the guard who had just been relieved was marching away.

“Oh, it is a bit,” she admitted, slipping her phone back in her pocket. “There’s not much to see, is there? But I appreciate that it’s a part of their culture and important to them. Or important to the Palace, at least.” She looked up at him and grinned, briefly squeezing his arm. “Ready to go? I think you’ll like our next destination.”

Fitz dutifully followed her down a brick-paved pedestrian path that led them away from the hill the Palace was perched on, down to a busy street that hugged the cliffs. They followed it around to a nondescript entrance to what looked like a park, but was actually a small zoo.

“This is the Zoological Garden of Monaco,” she explained as they headed inside. Fitz’s face was alert, his eyes bright as they scanned the first pens they approached. “It’s a very unique zoo. I did some reading on it when I was researching what we could do while we were here. None of the animals were bought--they were all donated or seized by customs. It’s one of the last royal menageries in the world.”

“Do they have monkeys?” Fitz asked, still looking around like he was trying to spot one.

Jemma laughed. “Yes, I’m fairly sure they’ve got monkeys.”

They spent their time walking down the trails that wound through the zoo, visiting the tropical birds, the goats and alpacas, the flamingos, even the hippopotamus. Naturally, they spent most of their time looking at the primates. Fitz was thrilled that they had capuchins, going on at length about how clever and compact they were, his hands gesticulating wildly as he talked.

“I wish I had a capuchin,” he said wistfully, watching as one climbed up a tree branch in its pen. “It would make such a fantastic lab assistant. It could fetch my tools for me or get into small spaces I can’t reach. I could train it to do pretty much anything.”

This was an argument that Jemma had heard plenty of times before, and she could only shake her head and roll her eyes. “It would be a nuisance,” she countered patiently. “You’d have to constantly keep watch over it and clean up after it and it--it would smell.”

Fitz shot her a scandalized look. “It would _ not_. It would be well-behaved and adorable. You’d just have to train it properly.”

“And you’d be the one to do that, hmm?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“If you’d give me a chance, I could.” He crossed his arms. “You’d see, we could have a whole fleet of monkeys at our beck and call in the lab. They could work for you, too.”

Jemma sighed. “I’d rather not have animals near my chemicals and samples, thank you. And even_ if _ I ever agreed to it,” she added, raising her voice slightly to cover Fitz’s look of protest, “you know S.H.I.E.L.D. would never allow it. It’s too risky. Animals in the lab go against all protocol, at the very least.”

Fitz harrumphed, looking back to the capuchins. “My monkeys would follow protocol,” he muttered, but there was a smile lurking at the edge of his mouth. He wasn’t really put out, she knew that; he just liked arguing with her. It was one of their favorite pastimes.

After a minute, she said, “We could always get a dog, if you really want a pet that badly. A small one, maybe.”

He seemed to consider it a moment, then shook his head. “What would we do with while we’re away at work all day? Keep it locked in its crate? No, that’s not fair. I couldn’t do that to a dog.”

He had a point, she conceded. It would be extremely unfair to keep a dog cooped up in its crate while they were away. While she mused on that, Fitz glanced aside at her.

“We wouldn’t have to worry about leaving a trained monkey out, you know.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Ugh, _ Fitz_!”

When she was finally able to coax him away from the primate pens and they’d finished making a circuit of the entire zoo, Jemma took Fitz next door to an esplanade that overlooked one of Monaco’s two ports. “Now, this is entirely for you,” she said as they walked down the stairs to a lower level. “You were right that the Oceanographic Museum was more for me, and you were very kind to indulge me there. Now I’d like to return the favor.”

Fitz reached out to bump her elbow with his. “Hey, I liked the museum. The aquarium was actually pretty cool, piranhas aside.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I wanted to try and find something that would specifically interest you, and then I found this on the map right next to the zoo.” They came to the bottom of the stairs and she gestured ahead of them, to a building with a sign over the front entrance that had a painting of an old car on it, which read ‘Collection de S.A.S. Le Prince De Monaco.’ “This is Prince Rainier’s personal car collection,” she explained. “I thought you might be interested in seeing it.”

Fitz’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? This--this is one of the best car collections in the _ world_. Christ, I forgot it was even here.” He looked toward the entrance with all the excitement of a young boy faced with multitudes of presents on Christmas morning. “There’s supposed to be all sorts of classic and unique cars in here.” He grabbed Jemma by the wrist and started pulling her toward the door. “Come on.”

Beyond pleased that he was so thrilled, Jemma felt a deep sense of accomplishment and went along with a smile on her face. Just as Fitz had listened to her go on at the aquarium about corals, fish, and marine conservation, she was more than happy to listen to him prattle on about cars and engines and mechanics for awhile. She followed him through the different levels of the museum, watching him bound around like a puppy, pointing out vintage Rolls Royces and Renaults, sleek Lamborghinis and Bugattis, stately old Cadillacs, even fast Formula One racing cars. He told her what he knew about the specs on each one and what made them special and unique and worthy of being kept in a collection, and Jemma listened attentively. She loved seeing him get excited and passionate about things: the way his eyes lit up, how his body got expressive, and how his words tumbled over each other in their haste to get out. He frequently got that way in the lab when they bounced ideas back and forth while working on a project, and it was just as nice to see him get so animated outside of work. It was a side of him that he didn’t often show to others, and she adored it.

Once they’d gone through the entire museum and were back outside in the sunshine, Fitz put his hands on his hips and breathed in deeply. “So, where to next?” he asked.

Jemma smiled as she looked out across the port, feeling light and carefree. “Well, this actually brings us to the end of my planned itinerary,” she said. “But we still have a few hours before we have to be back on the ship. I wonder what we could do to pass the time.”

Fitz grinned. “We could always go see the casino. I mean, we can’t go inside because of the dress code and everything, but we could at least say we saw it.” His expression turned mischievous. “Could make for some fun pictures for Grimes and everyone else on your Instagram.”

Jemma’s smile grew. “Are you saying you’ll willingly participate in having your picture taken?”

“No,” he replied easily, but there was still mirth dancing in his eyes. “I’m just saying we could get some nice shots of the casino, that’s all. Come on.”

They decided to walk since the weather was still pleasant. Their trek took them down a busy street lined with buildings painted in colorful pastels and full of expensive shops, and then onto a road bustling with traffic that climbed the hillside along the main port. Fancy condos crowded the hill across the road from them, and Jemma couldn’t help but wonder what the rent on them was like. It was probably something like ‘more than her and Fitz’s annual salaries combined.’

At the top of the hill, the road curved around a selection of high-end shops before ending at a large circle with a neatly-trimmed lawn and fountain in the center, bordered on three sides by very opulent, large buildings. They’d reached the casino and its associated hotel and restaurant. 

“Wow,” Fitz said, looking up at one of the dark statues that sat atop the casino’s wrought-iron-and-glass awning. “That’s nice.”

Jemma lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare despite wearing sunglasses and nodded. “It is rather impressive, isn’t it? I read that the man who designed the building also did the opera house in Paris. You can tell; the style is very similar.”

Fitz hummed agreeably, then pointed to the sizable crowd of tourists gathered at the edge of the lawn across from the casino’s front entrance, all with their cameras or phones out. “Looks like they had the same idea we did,” he said, amused. “Everyone wants a picture of the casino.”

“Let’s not disappoint, then,” Jemma replied. “If we’re going to be tourists, we might as well act like some.”

As planned, Jemma took some photos of the casino and the hotel next door; then she gave her phone to Fitz so he could take some pictures of her with the casino in the background, some serious, some silly. After a fair bit of whining and cajoling she was even able to persuade Fitz to join her for a selfie or two, and though he acted like it was a great burden for him to do, his smile as he leaned in to get inside the frame with her was genuine.

“I don’t know about you,” Jemma said when they were done taking silly photos, “but the walk here took more out of me than I thought. And jet lag is still being a menace. I know it’s early, but I could really go for a nap right now.”

Fitz looked like he was biting back a smile. “Jemma Simmons, turning in early and losing an opportunity to explore? I’m _ shocked. _”

Jemma swatted at him with her hand. “Fitz! We accomplished everything that I wanted to see today, and then some. I can’t help it if we ended up with time left over. I call it a success.” She eyed him. “And don’t tell me you aren’t tired, too.”

Right on cue, Fitz yawned. The tips of his ears went red as he smothered it behind one hand, then gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered. “I’m pretty wrecked, too. A nap sounds great. Should we just head back then?”

They decided to take a cab rather than make another twenty-minute walk, and were back onboard the ship in roughly half the time it would have taken to make the journey to port on foot. In their cabin, Jemma toed off her sandals before curling up on the bed above the blankets, immediately snuggling in for a nap. Fitz hesitated slightly before kicking off his own shoes and joining her, but he sat up against the headboard and turned on the TV, keeping the volume down low. It wasn’t enough to bother her, and she was asleep in minutes.

When she woke back up, it was to the low murmur of voices nearby. Opening her eyes, she saw that it was considerably darker in the cabin; what she could see of the sky through the gauzy balcony door curtains looked like the inky blues and purples of twilight. Someone, likely Fitz, had turned on a few of the lamps in the living area. Shifting a bit to crane her neck, Jemma could see him standing with Harry by the table, where the other man was pouring two glasses of champagne. He set both the flutes and the bottle down on the table, said something to Fitz that she couldn’t quite make out, then nodded and turned to leave.

Stretching, Jemma got up to go join Fitz. He turned at the sound of her approach and smiled. “Oh, you’re up,” he said.

She smiled back at him and swallowed a small yawn. “Did you get any rest?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I did, but you were out like a light. You must have been more tired than you thought you were. But hey, come look at this.” He gestured for her to follow him through the closest sliding glass door, which had the curtains pushed aside, and out onto their private balcony.

Jemma couldn’t help but suck in a quiet, awed breath. The last rays of the sun were slipping below the horizon to the west, sending up rich hues of orange, gold, and red into the darkening sky, creating a beautiful sunset. Their side of the ship was facing the harbor with its dozens of ships and yachts moored along the docks, and the city rising up behind it was a glittering, glitzy urban landscape that almost looked too much like a postcard to be real.

“Really nice, isn’t it?” Fitz said, taking in her reaction. Then he ducked back inside, reappearing a moment later with the champagne. As he handed one of the flutes off to her, Jemma had the thought that if she were with anyone else, this would be a rather romantic moment--the view, the sunset, the champagne. But it was just Fitz, so it wasn’t anything of the sort.

She took a sip of the champagne, watching as he did the same, and smiled as she swallowed the fizzy liquid. Catching her expression, Fitz grinned again. “So, do you feel like Tony Stark yet?” he asked, holding up his glass and gesturing to their surroundings and out toward the harbor and the city with it.

Jemma laughed. “Almost,” she said. “I think we’d have to be on one of those million-dollar yachts down there for me to _ really _ feel like him. But this is a good start.”

Fitz nodded, still looking down at the harbor. “Yeah, I think I would too.” Then he glanced aside at her. “I had a good time today. Thanks for taking me to the zoo and the car museum.”

She smiled, a pleased warmth filling up her chest, and took another sip of her drink. “You’re very welcome, Fitz.”

-:-

When they went to bed later that night, things were much less awkward than they’d been the night before. They didn’t argue about it, at least, and Fitz seemed perfectly willing to share a bed with her again without a fight and only minimal blushing. They tripped over each other a little in the bathroom while brushing their teeth, but since it was a double vanity--unlike their apartment--they mostly managed to stay out of each other’s way. And when they finally crawled into bed, switching off their lamps and burrowing beneath the blankets, it was with a cheerful goodnight and wishes to sleep well. Fitz rolled over to face away from her, and Jemma stayed on her side facing out toward the living area. If they could handle every night like this, she thought as she settled in to sleep, then the next two weeks would pass very smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on Tumblr at eclecticmuses! Notes, comments, love, whatever--all is appreciated!


	4. Pisa & Florence

Fitz had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched.

He was sitting next to Jemma on a coach bus filled to the brim with other passengers from their ship, driving through the Italian countryside, and the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. In the seats Simmons had chosen near the front, he knew that just about everyone on the bus could see the back of his head if they happened to glance around, but that wasn’t what was giving him the creeping sensation of eyes boring into the back of his skull. Rather, it was who those eyes belonged to.

Janet had taken a seat a few rows back from them. He and Simmons had run into her while waiting for the bus to arrive at the port terminal and she’d seemed delighted to see them again--Fitz in particular. She’d asked him how he was doing, then confided that she’d told her granddaughter all about the nice young man she’d met at breakfast the day before. Bewildered and more than a bit embarrassed, Fitz had managed to stammer out an “oh, that’s nice” before the bus had pulled up to the curb, thus saving him from any further small talk.

She was probably still scoping him out, he thought. Judging whether or not he was good boyfriend material for her granddaughter. Amber, was that her name? Amy? It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to let himself get set up with a yoga instructor who lived god knows where and wouldn’t understand a thing he said. Long-distance relationships never worked anyway. And why did he need a girlfriend to begin with, when he had Simmons?

“She’s watching me,” he muttered.

Simmons, who was scrolling through her phone, looked up at him. “Who?”

“Janet. I can feel it.”

Simmons glanced back behind them as though she was just looking out the bus windows at the passing scenery, then turned back to him with an impish smile on her face. “I think she is,” she said, sounding far too amused for his taste. “And she’s on her phone, too. Probably sending her granddaughter more texts about what a nice young man you are.”

Fitz fought the urge to sink down in his seat and glower. “I’m glad this is all so funny to you.”

“It _ is_!” Simmons insisted, still grinning at him. “Who could have guessed that you’d have an older lady go sweet on you and try to set you up with a girlfriend on our cruise? It’s a completely unforeseen variable.” Then her face took on a thoughtful expression. “I wonder how my parents would react if I told them I met a nice man here on holiday.”

He spluttered, pushing past the sour feeling that abruptly churned in his stomach. “What? What are you on about?”

Simmons rolled her eyes. “_You_, silly. You’d be the nice man. As a joke, for my parents. You’re the only person I’m spending any amount of time with here, and I can’t very well _ make up _ a man. You know I’m a horrible liar.”

Fitz was pretty sure his face was red as a tomato. Simmons would tell her parents she was romantically interested in him, even as a joke? He wasn’t sure what that was doing to his thoughts and feelings, now swirling in a mass of confusion in his gut. Suddenly, it felt like the latent crush he’d harbored on her at the Academy was begging to come roaring back, but he tried his best to ignore it. “Well, I’m pretty sure they’d be disappointed to learn it was just me,” he pointed out, a little lamely. Simmons wasn’t interested in men like him anyway.

“Nonsense,” Simmons replied immediately. “My parents love you, you know that.”

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off. Sure, her parents liked him as her colleague and friend and dependable roommate, but would they like him as a boyfriend? A faint buzz of anxiety joined the bubbling of that old crush, but after a moment he swallowed and impatiently stuffed it all back down. She wasn’t serious about it, anyway; she had already returned her attention to her phone, all thoughts of teasing him apparently forgotten. Which felt appropriate, really--she was his best friend and always would be, but anything more than that was just silly, something to laugh about and forget in the next breath.

He turned back to the guide pamphlet on Pisa he’d picked up at the port terminal, determined to put it all out of his mind.

A few minutes later, he became aware of Simmons twisted to face him in her seat, her phone held up toward him. He glanced up from his pamphlet just as she turned back to face forward, looking down at her phone and grinning. He frowned. “Did you just take a picture of me?” he asked.

Her grin widened. “No,” she said, tapping around at her phone’s screen.

He leaned over to get a look at what she was doing, and even though she shifted to hold her phone away from him, she wasn’t fast enough--he could see Instagram open on the screen, and she was in the middle of adjusting filters on a photo of him reading his pamphlet. “Simmons!” he groaned. “No one wants to see a picture of me reading a bloody brochure.”

She made a face at him. “I don’t care if people don’t want to see it, this is _ me _ documenting our trip and I want photos of the both of us,” she said. “You looked so engrossed. It was nice, it felt like a photo moment.”

Whatever _ that _meant. She’d been very thorough so far, taking photos of everything--the scenery, the architecture, the places they’d visited along with plenty of the both of them--she’d even taken a picture of their empty plates the previous morning at breakfast, posting it to Instagram with a caption announcing that they’d just had a full meal and were ready for a day of sightseeing.

He didn’t care much for social media, but if it made Simmons happy, he could bear with it. His mum would appreciate the pictures, too. He’d have to give her Simmons’ account name.

“I was just reading a bit on the Leaning Tower’s history,” he said, holding the pamphlet up. “It’s actually not a bad little brochure--here, you can look at it if you want.” He held it out to her.

Simmons took it from him, smiling. “Thank you. And it shouldn’t be too much longer before we get there, and then we can see it in person!”

She was right. It was only a few more minutes before their bus reached Pisa and let them out in a large car park filled with other buses. They stepped out into the morning sunshine and immediately put their sunglasses on, then followed the rest of their fellow tourists and their assigned guide to their destination.

It was a bit of a walk; Pisa was not a large city, and so Fitz felt a bit like he was walking through a suburb, going down a two-lane road lined with low buildings that had small shops and restaurants inside. Finally, they came to an open-air market filled with tents, all of them crammed with souvenir goods pertaining to Pisa, the Tower, or Italy in general. At the back of the market was an old, tall stone wall, and beyond it he could see the red tiled dome of what looked like a church.

“They call this the Field of Miracles,” he told Simmons as they walked through a large arch in the wall. “According to the pamphlet, anyway.” The arch opened up onto a wide, paved path; to their left was a large open grassy area, the so-called field. The dome he’d seen actually belonged to the Baptistry, an ornate three-story rotunda. Behind it was Pisa Cathedral, a beautiful white marble structure built in the traditional cross configuration, and behind it, just peeking out, was the famous Leaning Tower.

“Oh, look, there it is!” Simmons said excitedly, leaning into him and swatting at his arm. “I can’t believe we’re actually here. It’s something you see in photos and books all the time, but don’t think you’ll actually get to see for yourself. And here we are.”

Fitz couldn’t help but grin; her enthusiasm was contagious. “Yeah, there it is,” he said, glancing aside at her and taking in her bright smile. “History’s most enduring engineering screw-up.”

Simmons huffed, but she was still smiling. “Of course you’d think of it that way.”

“But that’s what it_ is_,” he insisted as they walked. “That’s the only reason it’s famous. They bollocksed up the foundation but managed to finish it without the whole thing toppling over.” He gestured ahead to it, and the crowd of tourists that packed the piazza even at this early hour. “And now, as you said, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Simmons repeated happily.

When they reached the center of the piazza between the Cathedral and the Tower, they stopped to listen to their guide give them an overview of the background of the site. At least, Simmons listened with rapt attention. Fitz only paid half a mind, his interest less in a history lesson and more on looking around at the structures surrounding them. Being an engineer, he’d always had a passing appreciation for architecture and how buildings were put together; thus, despite his teasing, he really was interested in seeing the Tower up close and admiring all of the elaborate marble arches that comprised it and the facade of the Cathedral.

Once the lecture was over, everyone was dismissed for a bit of free time to walk around and take photos before guided tours began. Simmons immediately grabbed Fitz’s wrist and pulled him to a prime vantage point for picture-taking. 

“Right,” she said, taking out her phone, “we’ve got to do the one where it looks like you’re holding the Tower up.”

Fitz groaned. “Really? That’s so--so--_basic_.”

Simmons huffed again, but this time she was not smiling. “Fitz! It’s practically expected of us! Everyone takes photos doing it. You’re _ supposed _ to. Come on, it’s fun.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s--silly.”

“_Exactly_. That’s what makes it fun.” When he didn’t reply, just stood there resolute in his refusal, Simmons sighed and held out her phone. “Will you at least take a picture of me?”

“That, I can do.” Fitz took her phone and opened up the camera app, then held it up as Simmons got into place in front of him. He squinted at her through the screen, shuffling to the side a bit as he tried to line her up correctly with the Tower in the background. “Okay, so uh, lift your hands just a little. Now push them out a bit. No, not that much--” Honestly, this was more trouble than it was worth, just for a goofy photo. He took a tiny step to his right. “There. Don’t move. Right, smile if you want to.” Simmons turned her face to him and beamed, and he took a few photos before lowering the phone. “There, I think I got some good ones.”

She dropped her pose and came back to join him. “Can I persuade you to take a selfie with me?”

He put on his best long-suffering look. “If you must.”

She saw right through it, of course, and grinned as she pulled him around to stand next to her, with the Tower behind them. “Try not to look annoyed,” she said, holding her phone up.

Fitz smiled, for her sake--and really, he didn’t mind having his photo taken, not so much if it was for her--then stepped away when she was done. He looked up just in time to see Janet walk by, and their eyes met.

“Oh, hello!” she called out. “I was just getting some pictures of the Cathedral. I saw you taking a selfie--do you want me to take one of you where all of you is in the picture?”

Fitz glanced at Simmons and shrugged; he was fine with it, and these were all going on her social media, anyway. She would know best what types of photos she wanted to have.

Simmons was smiling though, already nodding. “Oh, that would be lovely, yes, thank you!” she said, walking to Janet and holding out her phone. The older woman took it, and Simmons walked back over to him. For a second, a vague sense of panic hit him--how should they pose? Whenever they took selfies, he usually just leaned in close; the small size of the lens frame usually meant anything else wouldn’t be visible. But with _ all _ of them in the photo now, just standing next to each other might look… awkward. 

He could put his arm around her. He’d done it before on rare occasions, like when they’d graduated from the Academy and again when they’d celebrated their first successful solo project at SciOps. The vestiges of his old crush tugged at him again, whispering that being close to her like that was exactly what he wanted, but he stubbornly ignored it. Best friends were allowed to put their arms around each other. It was--friendly.

So he settled his arm around Simmons’ shoulders, and the look she gave him when he did--faintly surprised, pleased, happy--made it worth it. She slipped her arm around his waist in return and leaned into his side. Fitz smiled, genuinely, and watched as Janet smiled herself and tapped at Simmons’ phone screen a few times.

“That’ll be a nice picture,” she said, walking forward to hand Simmons back her phone. “You both look very happy.”

“I don’t know about him, but I’m happy,” Simmons said with a laugh. “There’s so much culture and history here to learn about.”

“Hey, I’m happy too,” Fitz reminded her with a light elbow to the ribs. “Engineering blunder, remember?”

She laughed again. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure you’ll tell me all about how you would have done it better when we take the tour.”

Janet had watched their back-and-forth with an amused look. “So you’re doing the Tower tour?” she asked. “I decided to see the Cathedral. All of those steps wouldn’t be good for these old bones.” She patted her leg and laughed lightly.

Simmons nodded understandingly. “We would have liked to do both, but there just wasn’t enough time. And speaking of time, it looks like Carlo is gathering everyone up for the Cathedral tour.” She pointed toward the corner of the Cathedral, where their guide was standing with a group of people from their bus. “You’d probably best be going.”

Janet turned to look where Simmons was pointing, then nodded. “Oh, you’re right,” she said. “Well, I hope you enjoy the Tower. See you later!”

They went to go join the line to ascend the Tower after Janet left, and as they waited, Fitz felt a faint wave of apprehension and nerves wash over him. The angle of the Tower’s lean seemed much more severe up close. Looking at it and knowing he had to climb stairs to get to the top left him feeling very unsure of himself, even though intellectually he knew that the structure was as secure and stable as could be. Simmons seemed fine, though, talking animatedly about the things she’d read regarding the Tower when she’d done her initial research to book their excursion. Then again, he didn’t think there was much that frightened her. Simmons was pretty fearless. 

His nerves only grew as they finally entered the Tower with their tiny group, and hitched a little higher with each of the three hundred-something narrow stone stairs they climbed. Then they emerged back out into the sunshine at the top, which was a disconcertingly small space hemmed in by the large bells hanging beneath each arch that circled around the top of the Tower.

Next to him, Simmons lit up. “Oh, look at the view!” she cried softly, stepping toward the safety railing that went around the outside edge of the Tower, just beyond the bells.

“Simmons--” he blurted, reaching out to stop her with his heart in his throat before he caught himself. She didn’t need him being a ninny about his fear of heights. Instead, he stayed within the safety of the center of the floor, reading the information plaques next to each bell and peeking around them at what he could see of the view. It _ was _ nice; the city spread out all around below them with its multitude of orange tiled roofs, and out beyond the city’s edge the Tuscan countryside rolled up into some low-lying mountains in the distance. He was sure Simmons was getting some nice photos on her phone.

“Fitz,” she called, sticking her head around one of the bells to catch his eye. “Come look!”

He shook his head, staying firmly where he was. “No, I’m--I’m good, thanks.”

She frowned at him. “Why not? The view’s gorgeous!” 

Fitz sighed. The last thing he wanted was to look like a coward, but the thought of getting so close to the edge of that steep a drop made his stomach churn unpleasantly. It was bad enough that Simmons was right up against the railing; going over himself would just make it worse. In the end he shook his head again and waved her off. “Um… fear of heights,” he explained, looking at a spot just over her shoulder.

“Oh.” A look of understanding passed over her face. “_Oh_. Why did you agree to come up here, then?” She edged past the bell to rejoin him. “We could have gone inside the Cathedral instead.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think it would be this bad. Plus, I _ did _ want to see it." He smiled weakly. “I know being afraid of heights is silly--”

Simmons put a hand on his arm. “It’s not silly, Fitz.” She smiled back and looked around. “I’ve got all the photos I think I’ll need, so we can go ahead and go back down if you like.”

Fitz was grateful for her consideration, even if he was a little embarrassed, but he did feel much better once they were back on solid ground. They spent the rest of their time allotted to the Tower admiring the architecture of the Cathedral and the Baptistry until their tour guide reappeared with the group that had gone inside and told them it was time to head back to the buses.

-:-

The ride from Pisa to Florence took a little over an hour, and the bus let them off at a car park at the Piazzale Michelangelo, a large piazza that sat atop a tall hill overlooking the city. Since they hadn’t booked a guided tour, Fitz and Jemma wandered past the recreation of the famous David statue and a bank of souvenir stalls to reach the piazza’s stone wall while she checked the map on her phone to get their bearings.

Fitz let out a low whistle as he leaned forward against the wall. “Now that’s a view you can’t really get back home.”

Jemma looked up from her perusal of her GPS to follow his gaze. Then she smiled. “Oh, you’re right,” she murmured, wonder seeping into her voice. “That’s gorgeous.”

The city lay before them down at the bottom of the hill, the green-tinted River Arno flowing past in the foreground. Like in Pisa, the skyline was dominated by orange tiled roofs, chief among them a large church that rose above all the other buildings in the vicinity. In the distance, the landscape rose up into another line of forested mountains, providing a beautiful backdrop to the old city.

Fitz looked aside at her and gave her a lopsided grin. “I expect you’ll be wanting pictures?”

She nodded. “Oh, definitely. Just as soon as I figure out how to get where we’re going first…” She looked back down at her phone and made a few more taps. “There. Alright, come here and take a picture with me.”

He indulged her by taking a few selfies, one of just the two of them and a few with the view of the city behind them, then stood to the side while she got some shots of the city alone. Then he followed her as she slipped her phone into her crossbody bag and headed for the edge of the piazza.

“So where are we headed to first?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked along the path that snaked down the hill.

“Ponte Vecchio,” Jemma replied, adjusting her sunglasses on her face. “You can see it up ahead there, in the distance--see?” She pointed to where there was a bridge crossing the river just visible over the trees ahead of them, covered with buildings built on top of it. 

Fitz leaned forward as they walked, squinting behind his own sunglasses, then nodded. “Oh yeah, I see it.”

“I read all about it when I was researching our options for today,” she added. “The history of the bridge dates back to the Roman era, though the current one was built in the 14th century. And it’s always had shops built along it. Did you know that it was the only bridge in Florence that the Germans didn’t destroy during World War 2?”

“I did not,” Fitz replied, grinning at her.

“Yes!” she said, leaning fully into her subject matter. “According to local rumors, the order to spare it came directly from Hitler himself. Anyway, originally the bridge was home to several butcher shops and then gold sellers, but now it’s mainly art dealers, jewelers, and souvenir shops…”

Jemma continued to lecture Fitz on the history of the bridge and the rest of the city as they walked, which ended up being a good way to pass the time. Their path brought them down the hillside and to a road which ran along the river’s edge, across which they could see many of the beautiful old buildings which made up the city proper. It was a pleasant walk, the sun high in the sky with puffy white clouds for company, light sparkling off the water of the river, and not for the first time Jemma was struck by the realization that she was actually_ there_, in a foreign city, having a European adventure with her best friend in the world. It was something that left her feeling bright and alive and eager for more.

As they drew closer to the Ponte Vecchio, road traffic increased along with the number of pedestrians on the sidewalk with them, and by the time they finally turned onto the bridge itself, the pavement was crowded with tourists. They walked slowly, sticking close together so as not to get separated, and took in what the bridge had to offer.

The majority of the shops appeared to be jewelers, just like she’d read: dozens of tiny little shops squeezed in next to each other along the bridge, the glass storefronts crowded with wares. There were a few high end names that she recognized, but for the most part, many of the shops looked a bit naff to her. But that didn’t stop her from going up to several of the shops they passed and looking in the windows at the various necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets on display.

Fitz, of course, was bored by it. He had no interest in looking at jewelry and used the time she spent browsing either watching all the other tourists around them, sighing, or not so subtly checking his watch. However, when something actually caught her eye and she gave a soft cry of admiration, he immediately turned his attention back to her.

“See something you like?” he asked, shuffling a little closer to her.

Jemma glanced up at him. “Oh--well--yes, I just saw this necklace here. Look.” She pointed inside the window they were standing at, to one of the velvet necklace displays, upon which laid a lovely little silver necklace. A tiny rose pendant hung from the delicate chain, the gold thorny stem twisting around it and ending in a small bloom of silver petals. It was simple yet pretty, something she thought would complement her style nicely.

“Oh, that’s nice--I guess,” Fitz said, leaning down to peer at it. “I think it would look good on you. How much is it?”

She stepped in closer, squinting at the tiny little sticker stuck to the bottom of the display; then pulled a face. “Ugh, fifty euros. A little more than I was planning on spending on any souvenir.”

Fitz pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking from her to the necklace and back for a moment before saying, “I’ll get it for you, if you want.”

Jemma balked. “What? Fitz, no.”

“No, really,” he said. “Your birthday is next month, and if you really want it, I don’t mind getting it for you. Just consider it an early present.” When she didn’t reply, just stood there looking torn, he laughed and added, “You can buy me dinner sometime and we can call it even.”

She hedged for another minute--there was a part of her that felt guilty about letting Fitz spend that much money on her--but he looked so completely earnest and willing to do it that in the end she couldn’t deny him the opportunity. And she _ did _want it. “Alright,” she said, and Fitz grinned brightly at her before turning to lead the way inside the small shop.

A few minutes later they were back out on the street, Jemma adjusting the silver chain around her neck so the rose pendant sat properly just beneath her collarbone. “Thank you so much, Fitz,” she said sincerely, beaming at him. “It’s beautiful, I love it.”

He shrugged easily, a slight hint of bashfulness edging into the hunch of his shoulders. “Glad to get it for you,” he replied. “Happy early birthday.” Then he straightened up and looked around. “Where to next?”

Jemma took out her phone again to consult the notes app, where she’d typed up their itinerary for the day. “Next we go to the Piazza della Signoria,” she announced. “Which is just straight ahead. Let’s go.”

They wound their way through packs of tourists and shoppers crowding the streets until they reached the large, open square widely considered by many to be the heart of Florence. It was ringed by busy restaurants, many with outdoor seating dotted with awnings and umbrellas to keep the sun off of patrons, and was dominated on one corner by the tall stone Palazzo Vecchio, which held Florence’s town hall. Its crenellated clock tower rose high above the rest of the structures surrounding it, immediately drawing the eye. It was this building which Jemma led Fitz to.

“Hey, look, there’s the statue of David,” he said, pointing toward a tall, white marble statue standing atop a plinth just outside the front entrance to the Palazzo. “Or--” He squinted. “That’s not the real one, right? They wouldn’t have the real one just out like that.”

Jemma shook her head. “That’s just a copy. And _ no_, before you ask, that doesn’t get you out of seeing the real one. But we’ll do that later. Right now, there’s something I think you’ll like here.”

She kept mum on what it was as they went inside the Palazzo and bought tickets for a tour, despite Fitz needling her, demanding to know what was waiting for him. But it was all worth it when they finally reached the room she’d read about while doing her research and he saw all of the framed sheets of parchment on display on the walls.

“Are these--?” He started, taking a step toward the closest frame and squinting to get a better look. Then his jaw dropped as he read the information card next to it. “These are Da Vinci’s!” he cried, immediately crowding in as close as he could and gesturing for her to join him. “Simmons! These are some of his notes and sketches from the _Codex Atlanticus_!”

“I know,” Jemma said as she came to stand next to him, unable to keep from smiling and feeling pleased with herself. “I know you’ve always had an interest in his work, so when I saw that this exhibition was here, I knew we had to come.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Did I do alright?”

Fitz huffed. “More than alright.” His eyes were fixed on the page behind the glass in front of him, taking in every detail. “I can’t believe I’m looking at his _ actual _ notes. That’s _ his _ handwriting, Simmons, right there. Da Vinci actually wrote this. And these are his designs for one of his flying machines…” He took a small step back and put his hands on his hips, his face glowing with awe. “He was truly a man before his time. This is fascinating.”

Jemma’s smile widened. Just as she’d thought the previous day at the car museum, there wasn’t much that made her happier than seeing a joyful and excited Fitz. She was more than willing to let him lead her around the exhibit, reading to her all of the folios on display and explaining some of the inventions and ideas sketched out on them in further detail. It felt like a privilege to see a true master’s original work, and she couldn’t think of a better person to see them with.

It left Fitz in an ebullient mood as they finished the rest of the tour and left the Palazzo a little while later, but as they walked back outside into the sunshine, his stomach gave a rather loud grumble. Giving it a pat, he looked at her sheepishly. “Is it time for lunch yet, you think?” he asked hopefully. “I’m starving.” His stomach let out another low gurgle. “Obviously.”

Laughing, Jemma nodded and stopped, looking around the square and taking stock of where they were and what was nearby. “Yes, I think so. We probably should have found something to eat before we went to see the Da Vinci exhibit, but I was just so excited for you to see it.”

“I think I can forgive you this time,” Fitz replied graciously, his eyes shining with a hint of fond mirth, and Jemma felt her heart glow with affection for him.

They chose one of the restaurants on the edge of the piazza to eat lunch at, and took a table outside underneath one of the wide umbrellas so they could people watch. “Is it just me, or do a lot of restaurants around here have outdoor seating?” Fitz asked as he perused the menu. “Even the ones on the narrow streets we’ve passed have some tables outside. Is it a Continental thing?”

“Maybe,” Jemma said, her attention mostly focused on her own menu. “Most of these buildings are so old, they probably don’t have a lot of interior space. And I assume they want to maximize their profit potential, so… outdoor seating.”

“Hmm. Right,” Fitz murmured. “Christ, look at this--how do you pronounce it?” He tapped at his menu. “_Paccheri salsiccia e fung--_well, that’s definitely ‘fungus’.”

She looked over the menu until she found what he was looking at. “Oh, the pasta with sausage and mushrooms?” she asked, thankful the menu was also printed in English--though she gave Fitz credit for attempting the Italian. “I think you’d like that.”

“Yeah, that,” he said. “It looks good. Can’t believe the Italian word for ‘mushroom’ is _ actually _ fungus, though. Makes me feel like I’m--well, ordering something full of dirt and bacteria.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Only you would think that. That’s what mushrooms _ are_. Not bacteria, but a fungus. Nothing wrong with that, they’re perfectly fine for you.”

Fitz muttered something that sounded suspiciously like he was deriding her love of biology again, but she let it pass by. Nothing would ever be worse than the time she’d accidentally left the cat liver specimen out next to his lunch. And that had been his fault, really, for having food in the lab in the first place.

But he wasn’t grumbling when his food was brought out: a plate piled high with pasta, sliced sausage, and mushrooms in a red tomato sauce. He dug right in, making a pleased noise at the taste, and Jemma just grinned to herself as she tucked into her own meal of grilled vegetables and cheese. There was very little--cat livers aside--that would truly put Fitz off of eating, and it was a true wonder to her how he could just pack down the amount of food he did and never gain an ounce. He must have magic metabolism. She’d figure it out, one day.

They didn’t linger over their lunch for long, because they still had plenty left to do on the itinerary Jemma had set. When they left the restaurant, Fitz’s stomach feeling much better, they took a short walk down a crowded pedestrian street lined with shops and restaurants until they reached their next destination--the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, or Florence Cathedral.

“Oh, wow,” Jemma breathed, tugging on Fitz’s sleeve as they entered the wide plaza the cathedral sat on and the building came into view. “Look at that. It’s beautiful.”

Next to her, Fitz nodded as he looked up. The church was massive, several stories tall, its ornate facade carved from white, pink, and green marble. Statues of the twelve apostles sat in niches just below the roofline, and the arches above the church’s three doorways were decorated with colorful mosaics showing scenes from medieval Florentine life. Three round stained glass windows were set into the facade and, farther back along the building’s structure, was the enormous red brick dome which rose higher than anything else in Florence’s skyline. It was truly an achievement in architecture to behold.

“My mum would love this,” Fitz said, pulling out his phone. Jemma joined him in taking a few photos of the cathedral and the adjoining bell tower before they went inside.

In contrast to the intricately-fashioned exterior, the interior of the church was almost humble by comparison. Dark stone pillars lined the plain stucco walls that rose up to the vaulted ceiling high above them, where most of the cathedral’s decoration could be found. The inside of the dome held a massive fresco that depicted the Last Judgment, with rings of characters and scenes wrapping around the dome, all focusing in on the figure of Christ in the center. Fitz and Jemma stood for a while admiring it together in silence before Fitz took a few more photos for his mum, and Jemma took some for her Instagram.

“Here’s another bit of engineering info for you,” Fitz said quietly as they walked slowly across the tiled floor toward the altar. “That dome up there used to be the largest in the world. I think it’s still the largest one out of brick ever constructed. Considering when it was built, it was no easy feat.”

Jemma looked aside at him and smiled. “How do you know all of this?”

He shrugged. “I told you--picked up all sorts of little facts about things like this during my undergrad. Kind of forgot about them once I got started on my doctorate… but seeing these places in person brought it all back.” He smiled. “Thirteen-year-old me is a little amazed.”

Jemma’s smile widened. “That’s sweet.”

They spent a little more time exploring the church, visiting each of the little chapels and examining the statues and paintings on display within, before heading back out to the street to walk to their last destination of the day. It was only a short trip to the Academy of Florence Art Gallery, which was crowded with tourists when they arrived.

“Now _ this _ is the true tourist experience,” Fitz deadpanned, gesturing ahead of them to the long line waiting to get in to the gallery. “Never-ending lines. You think we’ll be seeing more of this over the next two weeks?”

“I shouldn’t think so, not too much,” Jemma replied, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Obviously we’ll be visiting many popular sites, but they’ll be mostly outdoors. This just has a small entrance. It’s bottlenecked, that’s all. And we’ve got a reservation. I’m sure once we’re inside we’ll be able to move around more freely.”

Fitz grunted, crossing his arms, and craned his neck a little to try and see ahead of them a bit. Jemma asked him about one of the projects they were busy with at work to keep their minds occupied while the line inched forward, and eventually they made it through the metal detector and the bag check and were ushered into the gallery beyond.

They took their time going through the exhibits, murmuring over the illuminated manuscripts and religious iconography on display, admiring the sculptures, discussing the paintings. Jemma was especially interested in the collection of Stradivarius violins dating to the 17th century, though Fitz was rather impartial; but finally, they made their way through the gallery to the centerpiece of the entire collection, Michelangelo’s most famous work.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Fitz said.

Gazing up at the magnificent sculpture of David, Jemma let a second pass before she looked over at him with a frown. “What _ did _ you expect?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a lot taller than I thought it’d be, based off pictures… but, I mean, it’s just--a man. Standing there. With his bits out.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped. “_Fitz_!” she hissed, scandalized. “This is a masterwork of Renaissance art! You could at least appreciate the craftsmanship that’s gone into it!”

Fitz’s face screwed up, his cheeks flushing a dull red. “No! I mean, I do, it’s just--well, it’s not very exciting or dramatic, is it? He’s just standing there.”

“It’s not _ supposed _ to be exciting,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s all in the fine details. Look, you can see the musculature, the individual veins on the back of his hand.”

“Oh, well I suppose it figures that you’d like it, then,” Fitz sniffed.

She gave him a dirty look. “I have no idea what you mean,” she shot back.

Choosing to ignore her, Fitz took out his phone. “Well, let’s go on and get some photos, because I know you’ll want to,” he said resignedly.

Jemma did take photos, as many as she pleased before they had to leave because the hour was growing late. She did indulge Fitz by stopping for gelato along the way, because he _ had _ been nice and bought her a very pretty necklace for her birthday even if he’d been completely exasperating at the art gallery. He seemed much happier licking at his chocolate and mint cone as they made the long trek back to the Piazzale Michelangelo, and she considered that he really was quite simple in some ways: one of the paths to his heart was through his stomach.

When they reached the piazza overlooking the city, the sun was beginning to set in the west, bathing everything in tones of red and gold. “Oh, look, it’s gorgeous,” Jemma gushed as they climbed to the top of the steps. “I should get a picture, it’s too pretty not to.”

“But you’ve already got pictures of this view,” Fitz pointed out, looking amused. “From earlier, before we left.”

“Yes, but not looking like _ this_,” she countered, pulling her phone from her pocket. “It’s like a postcard. Take one with me?” She smiled up at him. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, but came to join her all the same. Jemma thought the resulting photos looked very nice, both of them smiling and happy with a beautiful shot of Florence at sunset in the background, the dome of the cathedral easily visible above the rooftops and the river flowing in the foreground.

She spent most of the hour bus ride back to port getting caught up on posting pictures to her Instagram while Fitz read news articles on his phone next to her. Once they were back on the ship they immediately went to the main dining room for dinner, since it was getting late and it had been several hours since they’d had lunch. After that, they were happy to spend the rest of the evening relaxing with the telly on in their suite.

“You know, I’m actually looking forward to seeing Rome tomorrow,” Fitz said, appearing in the doorway to the bathroom. He was patting his face dry with a hand towel, having just finished shaving. “I’ve always wanted to visit.”

Jemma, who was sitting up against her pillow on the bed, looked away from the television to smile at him. “Really?” she asked. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, then went back into the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later, flicking off the light behind him, and climbed into the bed beside her. “Yeah,” he said, propping his pillow up and making himself comfortable. He was much more at ease sharing the bed with her now. “I mean, every kid had a classical mythology phase at some point, yeah?”

Her nose scrunched slightly. “Not me. I was far too interested in biology and running experiments in my room.”

Fitz laughed. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see the Colosseum--”

“Another engineering marvel, yes?”

He nodded again. “In a sense, right. It’s been on my bucket list. So I’m excited about that.”

Jemma smirked at him. “Aren’t you glad you decided to come with me, then? You would have missed out, otherwise.”

Fitz gave her a look that clearly said _ don’t think too highly of yourself_, but it was tempered by the affection clearly visible in his eyes. “Yeah, I am,” he said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

And really, she thought, her expression softening, there was no one else she’d rather have with her. No one else she’d rather see the world with. This little slice of it, anyway. 


	5. Rome

Fitz was trying to pay attention to the countryside zipping by outside the train window, but his focus kept getting pulled away by Janet, who was sitting across the aisle from him and Simmons and kept trying to drag them into conversation. Well, him, more like. He suspected this was on purpose.

“Are you excited to see Rome?” she asked, angling herself toward them in her seat.

“Oh, yes, very much,” Simmons said brightly, leaning forward to look past him to where Janet was sitting. “I’ve been expecting it’ll be one of the highlights of our holiday.”

Janet nodded, smiling. “What about you?” she added, looking directly at Fitz.

He tried not to squirm. He’d been hoping Simmons’ answer would have worked well enough for the both of them, but apparently it didn’t. “Uh, yeah,” he said, scratching at a spot on his neck. “Absolutely.” And he really was--he’d said as much to Simmons the night before. He just didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic to Janet, lest she take that as her cue to draw him into a _ real _ conversation, probably about her granddaughter.

“My granddaughter Ashley--I told you about her--she’s always wanted to visit Rome,” Janet said, and Fitz tried not to make a face. _ So much for that. _ “It’s a shame she couldn’t come on this cruise. I really think you would get along!”

Next to him, Simmons made a soft noise that sounded a bit like a scoff, but when he glanced at her, she was looking out the window. Looking back at Janet, he tried for what he hoped was an amiable expression but was sure just looked awkward as hell. “Yeah. Big shame,” he said, and wished there was something, anything he could use as an excuse to turn his attention away. She didn’t know him at all--how would she know that he would get along with her granddaughter? Either Ashley was really desperate for a date, or her grandmother was that eager to set her up.

‘Can I take your picture?” Janet asked. “Just so she can put a face to the name.”

Fitz’s eyes widened slightly, feeling himself panic internally. “Um--” But Janet was already holding up her phone, and he couldn’t turn her down, could he? He’d look like an arse. Yeah, he’d definitely be an arse. He elbowed Simmons to get her attention.

“What?” she hissed, looking away from the window.

“Picture,” he muttered, nodding across the aisle toward Janet. Having it be a photo of the two of them together made him feel exponentially less awkward and exposed, and maybe Janet wouldn’t actually send it along--it might give her granddaughter the wrong impression if she sent a photo of her handsome young fellow passenger with another woman. Not that he and Simmons were an item or anything. Or that he was handsome. But--it was the principle of the matter.

Thankfully Simmons leaned forward again to bring herself up next to him and smiled, and he relaxed back into her shoulder and tried to smile as well. He was pretty sure it was more of a grimace, but Janet looked pleased as she tapped at the screen of her phone, so it must not have been too bad. “I’ve told her all about you,” she said, setting her phone back down in her lap and grinning at him. “She’ll be so happy to see what you look like.”  
  
This time, Fitz was pretty sure he failed at not looking completely bewildered. What was there to tell, that she knew? That he was a Scottish man who really liked waffles? Feeling his cheeks warm, he stammered, “Oh--um--”

“Tell us what you’re planning on doing today,” Simmons said suddenly, poking her head around him. “What are you going to see with the ladies from your church?”

Janet perked up. “Oh! First we’re going to tour the Vatican, and then I think we’re going to see the Pantheon…”

Fitz slowly relaxed as he realized the focus of the conversation had moved away from him. Simmons kept up her bright chatter the rest of the way to Rome, and when they finally arrived at St. Peter’s Station, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Are you taking the guided tour of the Vatican?” Janet asked as they exited the train onto the station platform. 

“No,” Simmons replied, shaking her head. “We’re seeing the city at our own pace. I’ve got everything planned out.” Fitz couldn’t help but smile at her--that was his Simmons, always prepared and planning ahead. 

Janet blinked. “Oh, I see.” She actually looked a little disappointed. “Well, I hope you two have a good time today. I’ve got to go get caught up with my ladies to meet our tour guide. See you later!” She waved and turned to head off into the crowd.

Fitz blew out a breath as he watched her figure recede into the distance, blending into all of the other travelers going about their business, then turned to find Simmons looking at him with an unreadable expression. “I’m telling you,” he said, “by the end of this cruise she’s going to have a formal proposal or marriage contract lined up--if not sooner. She’s got her eyes on me.”

A smile broke over Simmons’ face. “Definitely not something we could have anticipated from this trip,” she replied, but if he wasn’t mistaken, her face had become rather… considering. But it lasted for only a second before she tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the stairs. “Come on,” she added. “Let’s see about getting those passes I told you about.”

Before they left the station, they stopped to purchase some Roma Passes, which were good for fare on the city’s buses, trams, and metro, and also granted them entrance to some of the city’s attractions. Once they had their passes in hand, they stepped outside to the bustling city beyond to make the 15-minute trek to the Vatican City. Their path initially took them down a long, gently sloping hill filled with apartment blocks, and as they walked Fitz tried to wrap his head around the fact that he was in his fourth city in just as many days. It was definitely a whirlwind of a holiday, but he had very little to complain about so far. 

At the bottom of the hill they rounded a corner, where a large, ornate dome was visible in the distance towering over the rest of the buildings in between them. He figured it could only be St. Peter’s Basilica, and a sense of excitement put a bit of pep in his step. “Hey, look,” he said, nudging Simmons’ arm to get her attention, and pointed it out. She grinned when she saw it, and her steps hastened to match his.

They continued walking down the sidewalk, following the directions of Simmons’ GPS, crossing one busy intersection and continuing on until they made a turn onto a divided cobblestone road. Directly ahead of them, the tall marbled columns of the colonnade surrounding St. Peter’s Square were visible through the buildings that lined the street.

Nothing could have prepared them for the sheer size and scale of the square. The colonnade was enormous, two split halves of a circle four columns deep reaching around the square, with the massive St. Peter’s Basilica positioned at one end of it. It was the largest church in all of Christendom, and Fitz could easily believe it. Walking toward the obelisk that was the focus of the center of the square, the tourists he could see standing on the front steps of the building looked tiny.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Simmons said as they reached the obelisk, her expression open and light. “Can you imagine being here for something like Christmas Mass?”

Fitz frowned at her. “I didn’t think you were interested in anything religious.”

“I’m not, insofar as it doesn’t relate to our work,” she replied. “But still, imagining this huge square filled with people, thousands of them, all together for one purpose… I think even I would be hard-pressed not to feel _ something_.”

He hummed in soft agreement, putting his hands on his hips and looking around at all of the tourists milling about the square: taking photos, talking, or being led by tour guides. “You really could fit a lot of people in here,” he observed.

“And look at all of those columns,” Simmons added, indicating the colonnade. “It makes me feel like--well--they look very _ Roman_.”

“Like the maternal arms of Mother Church,” Fitz intoned, staring out at them. When Simmons gave him a puzzled look, he cracked a smile at her and laughed. “Hey, my mum might not be Catholic, but she still knows all of this stuff,” he said, sweeping a hand out to take in everything around them. “And I kind of learned it all through osmosis. It’s stuck with me.”

Simmons grinned at him. “So, a bit like your engineering trivia,” she teased.

He nodded. “Exactly like that. And while we’re here and I’m thinking about it, I’d better go ahead and take some pictures of myself. My mum’ll kill me if I don’t.”

They fell into a routine that was familiar to them by now--getting out their phones and taking photos of their surroundings, themselves, and each other. Fitz made sure to get a photo of himself and Simmons with as much of the colonnade and the basilica in the background as he could, because he knew his mum liked Simmons and would enjoy getting to see a picture of her, too.

Once they were done, they made the hike across the square to go inside the basilica and see its splendor for themselves. They weren’t disappointed; the inside was cavernous, with thick marbled pillars climbing up to a dizzyingly high barrel-vaulted ceiling, inlaid with intricate geometric shapes. Impressive statues and iconography seemed to fill every niche, and gilt accents could be found everywhere: going across the tops of the arches, at the pulpit, atop the massive bronze canopy over the altar, in the frescoes that adorned the ceilings. It was by far the most opulent church they’d seen yet, and it was a lot to take in. Fitz tried to take as many photos as he could, for his mother’s sake.

“We’ve been visiting a lot of churches,” he noted, as they crossed the intricately laid-out marble floor to where Michelangelo’s _ Pieta _ was on display.

Simmons shrugged lightly. “It’s just because the Church was the focus through which so much art and culture was created in the Western world,” she said, going up on her tiptoes to try and see above the heads of the crowd gathered around the famous sculpture. “Hence, many of the landmarks you’ll find in cities like this are old churches.”

“The Colosseum isn’t,” he replied, and when Simmons looked back at him, he grinned. He was really looking forward to seeing that particular landmark later in the day.

“No, it’s not,” she said, smiling the particular smile she gave when she was feeling especially warm towards him. It made him grin wider. “But that’s because it was built before the rise of Christianity.” She reached out to playfully poke him in the side. “We’ll get there, I promise.”

Even if religion and churches and things like that weren’t his area of interest, Fitz found it hard to complain about all of the places they were getting to visit--especially St. Peter’s Basilica. He recognized it was considered a bucket list destination for many people (his mum included). He was fortunate to go, and besides, it wasn’t _ completely _ boring. The architecture and interior design really was quite nice, which he found interesting to study. And he could appreciate that it held sentimental value for people. He even felt the same way about the Sistine Chapel, when they finally made their way there. The line to get in was horrendous, but ultimately worth it. Fitz felt the urge to pinch himself when he laid eyes on Michelangelo’s famous ceiling; he’d seen so many pictures in books and magazines, but here he was, actually looking up at it himself. Beside him, Jemma seemed to similarly be in awe. They stood close together while they looked the masterwork over, murmuring quietly to each other about how bright the colors were despite the paintings being so old, pointing at Adam stretching out to touch God, and noting how vivid the blue of the sky was in the _ Last Judgment _ fresco on the far back wall. The atmosphere in the building felt weighted and reverent, and he supposed it was as close to a religious experience as he might ever get.

Once they were done at the Sistine Chapel, Simmons announced that their next stop was the Pantheon--another church, technically, she teased, her eyes sparkling as she grinned at him, but one that originated during the Roman Era. They considered using their Roma Passes since it was a bit of a walk, but since it was still early in the day and the weather was nice, they decided to walk so they could experience more of the city. 

“Can you believe we’re in Rome?” Fitz asked, as they crossed a bridge that spanned the Tiber River. The view upstream was beautiful; there were a few other bridges visible and trees lined the far bank. Some distance away, what looked to be a large, roundish old castle sat perched on the edge of the steep embankment. Realizing he’d gotten caught up looking and was lagging behind Simmons, he skipped to catch up. “I mean, obviously we _ are _ here but sometimes it’s felt a bit surreal, that we’re visiting all of these cities.”

She smiled as they passed a large statue that decorated the stone railing of the bridge. “I think I understand what you mean. A new city every day, and they’re so different from home.” She gestured up ahead of them to the next set of statues that marked the end of the bridge. “It makes Boston seem sort of plain, doesn’t it?”

“A bit,” Fitz agreed. 

Once they made it over the bridge, they walked along the embankment for a short distance before turning deeper into the city. They followed some narrow streets that reminded him a fair bit of the Gothic Quarter in Barcelona, taking in all of the little shops and cafes they passed, until they finally came out onto a long, narrow piazza dotted with ornate fountains. “This looks nice,” Fitz said as they weaved through the throngs of people crowding the square. “Obviously very popular.”

“Extremely,” Simmons replied, and reached back to take hold of his wrist so they wouldn’t get separated.

They passed by a row of awnings shading tables filled with people eating outside one of the buildings that ringed the piazza, and his stomach rumbled--it was probably around noon, which meant hopefully they could get lunch soon. Then his eyes caught on a dish one of the patrons had sitting before them and he came to a sudden stop, grabbing onto Simmons’ hand to stop her as well.

“Simmons!” he hissed. “Look at that!”

“Look at what?” she said, startled at having been stopped.

Fitz pointed--but discreetly, trying not to be obvious that he was ogling someone’s food. “_That_,” he repeated. “That gelato. Christ, that looks amazing.”

The dessert in question seemed to be two or three scoops of different-flavored gelato in a tall, slender parfait dish, topped with chocolate syrup and whipped cream, and adorned with a wafer wedge and striped biscotti straw. It looked absolutely delectable, and now his stomach was growling in full force.

“Can we get some?” he asked, his tone bordering on wheedling. He wasn’t above begging, not for something as scrumptious as that. “It’s almost time for lunch, anyway.”

Simmons’ expression was exasperated, but it was tempered by the soft way she laughed at him. “If we’re going to eat, we’re going to have actual, real food. And you can save room for dessert. But come on, let’s see what they have.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and pulled him in the direction of the restaurant’s entrance so they could have a look at the menu posted outside the door. Fitz followed along easily, thrilled that he would get to try some of that fantastic-looking gelato while also feeling curiously tingly at his hand secure in hers. He didn’t think he’d ever held her hand before, but it didn’t feel weird. It was nice.

He was a little disappointed when she let go of him at the door, but shrugged it off to focus on the menu. It looked a little pricey, but it wasn’t outrageous--and they were being comped on their extra expenses, anyway. So Simmons asked for a table, and in short order they were seated at one under the edge of one of the awnings, pushing their sunglasses up and relaxing into their chairs.

“Thanks for letting me eat here,” he said, grinning across the table at her. “I’m sure we won’t regret it.”

Simmons smiled briefly as she glanced up at him over her menu. “I’m sure,” she said, amusement clear in her voice. “Honestly, I feel like your mum right now, making sure you get your vegetables in first before you overdose on sweets.”

“I bet I can find something on this menu that doesn’t have veg in it,” he replied confidently, scanning his own menu. “Does tomato sauce count?”

Simmons laughed. “Technically, tomato is a fruit. So no, it doesn’t.”

Fitz ended up ordering some sort of beef-stuffed cannelloni topped with melted mozzarella and the aforementioned tomato sauce. Simmons chose linguini in a creamy alfredo sauce. He couldn’t help but tease that her selection didn’t contain any vegetables, either, but she just shrugged and said she was allowed to indulge herself from time to time. They took their time eating when their food arrived, sipping on wine and chatting while watching people mill about the piazza. Some clouds were starting to roll in, but it was still a beautiful day, and he felt that it was as close to a perfect, pleasant afternoon as he could imagine--good food, nice weather, and Simmons.

She laughed at him when he finally got his coveted gelato--chocolate and hazelnut with whipped cream and chocolate syrup--and shook her head. “I will be very impressed if you can eat all of that, as big as your lunch was,” she said, her fork hovering over her tiny slice of chocolate cake. “I’m getting a stomach ache just looking at it.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Fitz deadpanned, plucking the thin wafer wedge out of the hazelnut gelato. He scooped a bit of whipped cream onto it before taking a bite, then smiled. “Oh, that’s good, that is. This is the best.” Then he picked up his spoon and dug in.

Despite Simmons’ predictions (or perhaps in spite of them), Fitz did finish his entire dessert, and he didn’t even feel fit to burst when he was done. She just laughed again, saying she would never understand his appetite, and once they had paid for their meals they set off for the Pantheon once more.

It was a very short walk from the piazza to the great old church, and very crowded outside when they arrived. It looked almost strange--like a building out of time, very old and weathered compared to the relatively newer structures surrounding it. But it was still magnificent, and it was easy to imagine how it must have looked, gleaming and brand-new.

“Can you believe this building is almost two thousand years old?” Simmons asked, staring up at it. “Imagine how much history it’s seen.” 

Almost absentmindedly, she took his hand again so they wouldn’t get pulled apart, and Fitz let her. He squeezed tight as they weaved their way through the throngs of tourists and didn’t let go until they were inside, marveling at the architecture. 

“Hey, I’ve got some more engineering trivia for you,” he said, leaning into Simmons so he could speak quietly to her. The church was full of visitors and there was plenty of crowd chatter, but speaking above a low tone still felt sort of wrong. When she looked up at him attentively, he smiled. “See the ceiling?” He pointed up to the coffered dome above them. “It’s actually made of concrete.”

“Oh, really?” Simmons looked higher up, her face bright in the sunlight filtering in through the central oculus at the top of the dome.

“Mmmhmm,” he said. “And it isn’t even reinforced. Still the largest dome of its type in the world.”

She cut her eyes over to him. “When am I going to get to tell _ you _ interesting facts?” she asked, and it almost looked like she was pouting. Fitz had to bite back a laugh. “You know all these little things about the places we’ve been visiting. It’s like you’re a proper tour guide, and I haven’t got anything.”

He knew her disappointment was because she’d spent so much time planning their daily trips ashore, and she wanted to feel knowledgeable and prepared--just like she did in every aspect of her life. She was so adorable in that moment that Fitz had to fight the urge to push her bottom lip back up so she didn’t look quite so pitiful.

“That’s not true,” he told her. “You knew everything about the aquarium in Monaco, and you’ve told me a lot about all the different foods we’ve eaten so far. You even told me what went into the paints they used in the Sistine Chapel. That’s not nothing.”

Simmons’ pout lessened. “That’s true,” she said. “I did know quite a bit about the corals they were growing at the aquarium.”

Fitz smiled. “See? Come on, let’s go check out the altar.”

They spent a bit more time inside the Pantheon, walking around and looking at all of the sculptures and relics on display, before deciding to head to their next destination--one that Simmons was decidedly excited about.

“The Trevi Fountain is supposed to be beautiful!” she chirped as they walked along some of Rome’s narrow streets. “And very romantic. I’m so glad we’ll get to see it.”

Fitz blinked. Surely she hadn’t meant that the way it came out. He frowned at her as he sidestepped a cafe sandwich board. “I didn’t think you were really into, um… I didn’t think you liked romantic-type things.”

Simmons shot him a look and _ tsked_. “Every woman likes a little bit of romance from time to time,” she said. “Even me.”

_ Huh_. He found himself reevaluating her. Simmons never really seemed to fall into the clichéd romantic traps that other women around them did, or put much stock into them. But if she was thinking so much about romance now, maybe she actually wished she was here with a boyfriend. A proper boyfriend, not a boy… friend. Someone she could do romantic things with, like hug and hold hands and kiss. (He’d held her hand, but it hadn’t been like _ that_.) The thought made his stomach flip unpleasantly, and suddenly he was very glad he wasn’t a third wheel. He didn’t think he could take traveling around the Mediterranean watching Simmons be cutesy and sweet with another man.

Because he would feel left out.

Of the general goings-on, that is. Not left out of the romance.

Because that wasn’t what the Trevi Fountain was at all, he decided once they arrived: romantic. The fountain itself was nice, he could admit that--very large, with statues that seemed to grow directly from the rough-hewn stone of the base and the Classical-style building behind it--but it was so _ crowded_. The square wasn’t very big and tourists filled it up completely, from the buildings surrounding it all the way up to the fountain’s edge. Everyone was talking, taking photos, and generally jostling each other around. Just trying to take it all in was giving Fitz a faint case of anxiety.

Simmons, however, appeared excited. “Oh, look, it’s gorgeous,” she said, her eyes shining. “Let’s go see if we can get any closer.”

Fitz dutifully followed, elbowing his way through the throng as politely as he could until they were both at the lip of the famous fountain, squeezed in between two groups of tourists speaking languages he couldn’t understand. Simmons let out a happy sigh and smiled as she looked out at the clear water tumbling over the stone into the wide basin before them. “It really is beautiful,” she said.

“But is it romantic?” he asked, still extremely skeptical.

She tilted her head, her gaze still caught on the sparkling water in the fountain. “It could be,” she replied. “I will admit, there’s quite a lot of people here--” Fitz snorted softly. “But I’ve seen photos of the fountain at night, where the water is all lit up and there aren’t as many people, and it looks so lovely. Like it would be the perfect spot for a kiss or even a marriage proposal.”

“Hmm,” Fitz said. Simmons talking about kisses and proposals… there was that old crush again, buzzing at the back of his brain like an annoying fly.

She glanced up at him, then poked him with her elbow. “You don’t think it’s romantic?”

He bit his lip and looked around at all of the people crowding the square, making it impossible to move about easily. “Not really,” he said.

Simmons _ tsked _ at him again, a frown on her face. “Disappointing, but not surprising.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Hey, what is that supposed to--_hey_,” he protested, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Are you implying I can’t be romantic?”

Simmons looked back out at the fountain. “Well, you’ve failed to see the romance of this place right in front of you, and seeing as you’ve never had any girlfriends, it stands to reason that--”

“That--that has no bearing on my ability to be romantic,” he sputtered, feeling his cheeks heat up. Why did she have to bring up his lackluster love life? “I’ve just never had the opportunity to show it, that’s all. And anyway, this is a _ place_.” He swept a hand out to encompass the fountain. “Places aren’t romantic, _ actions _ are.”

Simmons gave him a shrewd look. “Go on,” she said.

“Well--say I brought a girl here,” he began, digging into the act of laying out an argument. He told himself the girl he was imagining was _ not _ Simmons. “If we just showed up, well, there’s nothing romantic about that, is there? It’s just a water fountain in an overcrowded square.”

“But the history behind it, the art--”

Fitz held up a finger to stop her. “Shush, I’m not done. But if I put some thought into it--took her to a nice restaurant first that had her favorite food, booked a really good table, got her flowers, found excuses to hold her hand, kept up a good conversation--and _ then _ brought her here knowing she liked it and hit her with a speech and a ring, _ then _ it would be romantic. She’d have lots of other hopefully nice memories to go along with the evening.”

His piece said, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the look Simmons was giving him--she appeared to be assessing him--but at last she nodded once, and smiled in approval. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Still waters run deep.”

He tried not to take it as an insult. “Yeah, well,” he mumbled, scratching at his ear, “like I said--haven’t had a chance to show it off.”

“Pity,” she said, and took out her phone.

Fitz blinked. What did she mean by that?

-:-

They managed to get some photos of the fountain and each other without being bumped around by the crowd too much and then, to Fitz’s clear relief, they left. Jemma had to take his hand again as they fought their way out of the masses clogging the square, but as soon as they were on a street leading away, she dropped it. Holding his hand had felt nice, natural even, but it would have been weird if she’d kept it up when she no longer needed to.

It was a short walk from the Trevi Fountain to the Spanish Steps, something else that Jemma was excited to see even if Fitz simply wrote it off as just another architectural feature. The staircase had been made famous by the film _ Roman Holiday_, which Jemma had enjoyed watching as a young girl, so getting to see it in person was a treat. 

The piazza the Steps opened out onto was far larger than the Trevi Fountain’s, but just as popular; thankfully, due to the larger space, it didn’t _ seem _ as crowded. People were gathered all up and down the stairs, sitting in groups chatting and browsing their phones as other tourists walked by. Jemma thought it might not be a bad place to stop, relax, and eat some gelato, if they weren’t still stuffed to the gills from lunch. She snuck a look at Fitz. Well, _ she _ was still full from lunch; she had no doubt he could finish off a cone of gelato in minutes.

“Popular spot, isn’t it?” Fitz observed, planting his hands on his hips and squinting through his sunglasses up the stairs to the white stone church that sat at the top of the hill. “What’s so special about it?”

Jemma fought the urge to chide him. “Aside from being lovely to look at and a very good place to meet up with people, it was featured in _ Roman Holiday_. Haven’t you ever seen that?”

Fitz pursed his lips. “Can’t say that I have,” he replied. “Think my mum has, though. Isn’t it a chick flick?”

“Fitz!” She swatted his arm, scandalized. “It’s a classic! With Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. _ Not _ a chick flick.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and smirked at her. “Pretty sure it’s a chick flick.”

She scoffed and looked away, but she was smiling too. “You’re impossible.”

Behind her, Fitz laughed. “You love it.”

Where he couldn’t see, her smile widened. She _ did _ rather like it.

-:-

They decided to take the metro to the Colosseum, since there was a station right at the top of the Spanish Steps and they felt like taking a break from walking. Jemma kept double-checking the name of the stop they needed to get off on, while keeping an eye on the station names as they cycled through them--she didn’t want to miss it. Fitz seemed content to browse his phone, but one of his knees was jiggling a little; she knew he was excited to finally be getting to the one attraction he’d been looking forward to seeing all day.

Sure enough, when they got off the metro and exited the station to find the rounded arches that made up the Colosseum’s walls just a stone’s throw away across the street, Fitz sucked in an awed-sounded breath. “There it is,” he whispered. “Look at it.”

His wonderment settled something warm in Jemma’s heart, and she smiled as she gestured for him to follow her down the sidewalk. He did, taking out his phone and getting a few photos of the great arena as they went, following the flow of tourists down the stairs to street level and the entrance to the site.

It was just as busy and bustling with people as any of the other places they’d visited so far, but Fitz had a definite pep to his step--probably because he really wanted to be there, Jemma thought. They walked around the site, looking up with interest at the sections of the wall that had crumbled away to reveal layers upon layers of arches inside and all the way over to the Arch of Constantine, an old Roman monument that sat just beside the Colosseum.

“Imagine being a gladiator, riding through this on your chariot on your way into the Colosseum,” Fitz said as he stared up at the intricate carved scenes that decorated the arch. “And you could hear everyone cheering.”

“Right, because you’re about to have a pack of lions set on you for sport,” Jemma deadpanned. “It was absolutely barbaric, what they did here.”

Fitz’s face fell slightly as he turned back to her. “Well--yeah--they did do that--but it wasn’t _ all _ death matches and animal torture. They held mock sea battles, too. That’s what’s always interested me the most.”

“Did they?” Her expression softened.

“Yeah,” he replied, lighting back up. “They could fill the floor of the arena with water from an aqueduct, and then they’d bring in boats and soldiers and act out battles.” He looked out toward the Colosseum. “It’d be an impressive feat to pull off something like that today--flooding a dry arena to capacity and then draining it when the show was done--so imagine how it must have looked to the Romans two thousand years ago. I bet they thought it was fantastic.”

Jemma smiled. There was her Fitz, always captivated by the ingenuity of mankind and how they managed to build things. “Come on,” she said, tugging on his elbow. “Let’s see if we can go sign up for a tour, and you can tell me more about it.”

They stopped for plenty of pictures along the way, including one of them together with the Colosseum in the background that she thought was very nice and would have to go on Instagram as soon as possible. Then they found a kiosk where people could buy guided tours, and used their Roma Passes to get in with a group that was just starting out. The tour was very informative, taking them around the inside of the arena and telling them about its history from its heyday as a center of entertainment to its later uses as a workshop, fortress, quarry, and Christian shrine. They learned how it was damaged by earthquakes and stone robbers, and how repair efforts in the 19th and early 20th centuries made it available to be seen as it was today. 

Jemma listened attentively, though her focus was sometimes pulled away by how rapt Fitz was, how eagerly he took in everything the tour guide was saying, and how he frequently paused for photos, apparently wanting to document every moment. He pointed out the arena floor to her--the floor itself was long gone, uncovering the network of rooms and corridors beneath that had been added once they stopped filling the arena with water for his beloved sea battles. It was really an amazing place--their guide said it could hold over fifty thousand people at its height, which was more than some soccer pitches in England. Fitz was right; it must have been quite an experience to attend a spectacle there.

Once they were done with their tour of the Colosseum, they decided to walk across the street to the Roman Forum, a large area of excavated temples, squares, and government buildings that dated back to the same time as the Colosseum. Fitz was grinning brightly as they walked up the Via Sacra, the main road through the ruins.

“Now_ this _ is an adventure,” he said, nodding at a row of columns that lined a small hill above them. “No churches or fountains or museums. Proper old stuff, this is. Give me a hat and a whip and I’d feel like Indiana Jones.”

Jemma laughed. “Do you need a trowel and a brush? So you can go digging?”

Fitz shrugged gamely. “Wouldn’t say no to it if they offered. Don’t think I’m as--well, as dashing as Indiana Jones, anyway. I wouldn’t be able to keep ahead of the Nazis.”

She shrugged back at him. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “You could certainly outsmart them like he could. And give yourself more credit, you actually passed the physical portion of the field assessment.”

Fitz snorted. “Yeah, _ barely. _ And then I bollocksed up the espionage section because we were in on it together and you completely blew our cover.”

Jemma’s lips thinned. “I’ve already said it a thousand times, I’m _ sorry_\--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz cut her off, waving his hands. “Anyway, I told you, it’s fine. I like our lab. I like our work.”

“You’re much more like Indiana Jones when he’s teaching at the university,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his.

He nodded. “Right. I guess. Though no one would take any of my courses just because_ I _ was the professor.” 

Jemma laughed again. “I would,” she said, and grabbed his wrist to pull him toward a placard in front of a set of ruins that caught her eye.

Fitz shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s because you’re _ you_. You’re the only person willing to put up with me.”

Again, Jemma had the thought that he was selling himself short--he could be grouchy on occasion, yes, but he was passionate about his favorite subjects and could go on for hours if someone let him. It was possible he could be a very good teacher, given the right environment. At least, she thought so.

-:-

When they’d walked the length of the Forum, they turned to head back for the metro station. It was getting late in the afternoon, and since it was a forty-minute train ride from Rome back to port, they needed to leave if they wanted to make it back to the ship ahead of its scheduled departure time.

Fitz was glad for the reprieve; they’d done a lot of walking over the course of the day and his feet were more than a bit sore. He was happy to spend their time on the metro followed by the train in a sort of spaced-out doze, going over all the places they’d visited and the things they’d done, while Simmons got caught up posting photos to Instagram. Sometimes she asked him for his opinion on the captions or hashtags she was using, or she pointed out comments left on previous posts with a smile--most of them from Grimes, which made him grumbly. Creepy bugger was still stalking her social media. Finally they made it back onto the ship and up the elevator to their suite, and once they were inside Fitz collapsed face-first onto the bed with a groan.

“I am never walking again,” he said, his voice muffled by the duvet.

He heard Simmons make a soft noise behind him. “We didn’t walk _ that _ much.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” He rolled over and pushed himself up, then leaned forward to start easing his shoes and socks off. “I don’t think I’ve walked so much in one day in my life as I have today, and that’s just added on top of all the walking we’ve done so far this week.” He ignored Simmons’ mild look of affront as his shoes thunked onto the floor and he dropped his socks on top of them. “Look, my feet are swollen.”

Simmons took a step closer to peer at them and frowned. “Oh… so they are.” She bit her lip. “Do you want me to go by the duty-free shop to see if they have any muscle cream or an anti-inflammatory?”

Fitz leaned back on his hands and sighed. “Actually, that would be really nice, if you don’t mind.”

Her frown morphed into a small smile. “I don’t mind at all. Here--I’ll go do that, and you can order dinner in for us while I’m gone, so you don’t have to spend any more time on your feet.”

She patted his leg before turning to leave, the suite door clicking softly shut behind her. Fitz gave himself a minute to just enjoy sitting down on their comfortable bed before stretching for the remote control to turn the TV on for background noise. Then he padded into the living area to find the room service menu and put in their dinner order.

By the time Simmons returned with a tube of muscle cream held triumphantly in her hand, he’d already changed into his pajamas and was relaxing on the bed again, idly watching Sky News. “They said it would be about fifteen to twenty minutes for dinner,” he informed her. “I got you a salad with grilled chicken.”

She smiled brightly at him. “Sounds perfect, thank you.” She held up the muscle cream. “Do you want to do this yourself or would you like me to?”

He pulled a slight face. “I think I can handle some menthol rub on my own.”

“No, it’s just--” Simmons shook her head. “I do feel a bit badly for not making more use of public transportation today, and having your feet swell as a result. I thought maybe I could give them a bit of a massage, and see if that helps.”

Was it just him, or were her cheeks a little pink? Suddenly feeling a little flustered himself--Simmons was offering to _ rub his feet_\--he shrugged, trying to play it casual, and said, “Um, alright. If you want to.” Simmons nodded, and he scooted over on the bed a bit to give her room to sit down by his feet. She sat and pulled both of them into her lap, then uncapped the tube of cream and squeezed a bit onto her fingertips. Fitz swallowed. Then he gasped at the touch of the cream on his bare foot. “It’s, um, a little cold,” he explained, when Simmons looked sharply up at him.

She smiled gently. “It should warm up as I rub it into your skin,” she said, pressing her fingers into the top of his foot and moving them in circles. Sure enough, the cream started to warm, leaving his foot almost tingling, and he sighed contentedly. “Better?” Simmons asked.

“A bit.”

She smiled again and squeezed out some more cream onto her fingers, then applied them to the arch of his foot. Fitz had to bite down hard on his lip to keep a groan from escaping--that felt _ good_. Really good. Better than it had any right to, actually. He watched in a daze as Simmons continued to slowly massage his feet, taking care to work out the tension she found in every muscle. He had the thought that it was probably a very good thing she was concentrating on just his feet, because the rest of him had gone very tense as well. He had to, biting his lip and curling his hands into the duvet, just to keep himself from moaning in pleasure. The crazy thing was, he didn’t want her to stop. He wanted her to keep going, to see what else her hands could do.

What was he thinking?

She was in the midst of pressing her thumb into the arch of his other foot, making a soft noise bubble up in his throat, when there was a knock on their suite door. “Room service!” a voice called from the corridor outside.

Simmons dropped his foot. “I’ll go get that,” she said, standing to go take the shortcut through the bathroom to the door. It was Harry, bringing them their dinner. Fitz heard her brightly greet him, and once he’d arranged their meal for them on the table out in the living area and gone on his way, Simmons asked, “Do you want me to finish up with your feet before we eat?”

Unbidden, he felt his cheeks flush, and he ducked his head in the hopes she wouldn’t see how red he’d gone. “Ah--no, no, I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Thanks, though. I feel loads better.”

“Good,” she said, looking pleased. “I’ll just go wash my hands, then.”

She moved past him to go into the bathroom, and Fitz sighed as he watched her go, then turned to head for the table. It was a good thing they had dinner to eat before they turned in for the evening. It would give him plenty of time to calm down--because he had enjoyed that foot massage far, far too much.


	6. Naples, Part 1

When the alarm went off in the morning, Fitz groaned and turned his face deeper into his pillow. “No,” he grumbled without opening his eyes. “Not getting up. Never walking again after yesterday.” His feet still felt a little sore, a dull throbbing ache that persisted even after a full night’s rest.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” he heard Simmons say as she turned off the alarm, her voice scratchy with sleep. “Stop being so dramatic.” A second later he felt her roll over, then prod the back of his shoulder. “Besides, today is your birthday! We’ve got a lot to do, and it’s going to be wonderful.”

That was true, Fitz reminded himself. He’d sort of lost track of the date since they’d left for the cruise, but it was indeed his birthday. They hadn’t intended to schedule their holiday to coincide with it, but things had just worked out that way and Simmons had told him it would be an exciting way to celebrate. He’d gone along with it, though his preferred method of marking his birthday was either drinks at the bar near their apartment or a movie night in. But he supposed he couldn’t really complain. He’d never been able to say he’d spent his birthday in Italy before.

It didn’t mean he was any more eager to get up at the moment, though. The bed was comfortable and sleep was tempting. He grunted indistinctly and pulled the blankets up beneath his chin.

“Come on,” Simmons said, poking his back again. “You can even have the bathroom first. A nice, hot shower will perk you right up. Might even help your feet.”

Fitz finally opened his eyes to stare blankly at the wall opposite him. Yes, that was exactly what he needed. A hot shower with ample time to do nothing but think about how she’d unwittingly pleasured him via a foot massage.

He sighed. A cold shower was sounding better and better. Maybe that would jolt some sense back into him.

-:-

At the breakfast buffet, Fitz helped himself to an extra waffle and sausage as a treat for his birthday, and was pleased that Simmons didn’t say anything about it when he set his plate down across from her at their table. Instead, she launched into a summary of everything she had planned for them that day (oh god, a _ hike_) and he was listening attentively when Janet passed by.

“Good morning, you two!” she said brightly, smiling. Simmons politely returned the greeting while he mumbled a hello around a bite of sausage. “Oh, Fitz--” Janet tapped his shoulder. “I sent Ashley the picture I took of you and Jemma yesterday, and I’ve already heard back from her. She said you’re cute.”

Janet looked very pleased with herself, but Fitz just wanted to duck and hide to conceal his burning cheeks. It felt a lot like his own grandmother trying to set him up, and he didn’t know how to respond to some girl he didn’t know saying he was cute. Feeling horribly awkward, he focused on cutting into his waffles with his fork and gave her the best smile he could. “Um--thanks?”

The older woman nodded. “And she said it’s so nice to see best friends of the opposite gender traveling together, without--”

“Girlfriend,” Simmons blurted.

Janet stopped mid-sentence and both she and Fitz turned to stare at Simmons in surprise. Her eyes were wide and there was pink staining her cheeks, but she was looking steadily back at Janet.

“What?” Janet asked, confused. “But I thought you said the two of you were just friends?”

Simmons took in a breath, her eyes darting to Fitz for a quick second. “Oh, we _ were_,” she said, pasting on a megawatt smile. “But Fitz confessed that he had feelings for me yesterday at the Trevi Fountain. It was _ so _ romantic.”

Fitz’s own eyes went wide with horror. What was she _ doing_? Nothing about their visit to the Trevi Fountain had been romantic, he thought he’d made that clear; he’d honestly been more concerned about them possibly being pickpocketed than anything else. And now she was blatantly lying, saying he’d bared feelings he didn’t have? For _ what_?

(He liked her, of course he liked her, but it wasn’t--like_ that_\--)

Abruptly realizing that both Simmons and Janet were now staring at him, evidently waiting for some sort of agreement or declaration, Fitz instead chose to shove a large forkful of waffles into his mouth. “Mmmhmm!” he said around them, even though he was screaming inside. It wasn’t like he could refute Simmons now and say she was having a laugh without making them both look like idiots.

Janet, at least, seemed to take Simmons’ terrible lying at face value. She’d looked disappointed for a moment, but then she brightened back up. “Oh, that’s so sweet, for love to blossom on a cruise like this,” she said clasping her hands together. “Especially between old friends.”

Simmons nodded enthusiastically. “It’s everything I’ve always hoped for.”

Fitz tried not to choke on his waffles. She was laying it on rather thick. Did she really mean that, or…? He chanced a glance at her across the table. She was beaming up at Janet, her eyes sparkling, but… no. No way. Women like Simmons did not go for men like him, ever. She was going to laugh at him as soon as Janet left, he just knew it.

“In fact,” Simmons gushed, “I’ve been waiting for this ever since we met. I’ve always thought he was so handsome. A bit pasty, maybe, but--”

Okay, this was rapidly going the way of the espionage portion of their field assessment. He had to save her from herself. Putting his fork down, Fitz said, “What Simmons means is--”

Janet gave him an odd look. When he blinked at her, confused, she said, “Simmons?”

He blinked again. “Oh. Um.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, at work everyone goes by their last name and sometimes we, uh, slip up. Yeah.” He laughed awkwardly. “Anyway, what Jemma meant was--this has all just been a long time coming.”

There. That was nice and succinct and kept Simmons from embarrassing them both. She apparently accepted it, because she smiled brightly up at Janet, who looked like she was trying not to coo over them. 

“That’s so sweet,” she said. “Well, I won’t keep you from your breakfast. Have a good time today, and try not to do anything too naughty.” She gave them what Fitz thought was supposed to be a conspiratorial wink before heading off for the food lines.

As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned his gaze to his best friend. “Simmons, what the _ hell_?” he hissed.

Her focus was already back on her bowl, where she was stirring some blueberries into her oatmeal. “That’s Jemma to you now, I think,” she said primly, not looking at him--though her cheeks were still flushed a fetching pink.

He goggled at her. “Fine. _ Jemma_. What the hell?!”

She set her spoon down against the side of her bowl and sighed. “Come on, Fitz,” she said, looking up at him. “Janet’s constant attempts to set you up with her granddaughter have clearly been making you uncomfortable, so I took you off the market by making you unavailable. See? Problem solved.”

Fitz stared for a moment, unsure what to even say, before slumping against the back of his seat. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Right. Thanks, I think. But, um… what if we see her again? Or she asks questions?”

Simmons--no, _ Jemma_\--shrugged easily. “Then we can just hold hands for a moment, or you can say something sweet. I don’t expect it’ll be very hard to keep up the ruse for her.”

“Glad you think it’ll be so easy,” he muttered, unconvinced, and turned back to his waffles. He was a little perturbed at how blasé she was being about the whole thing, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why--and he hoped they wouldn’t see Janet that often, so they could limit themselves to friendly waves or a quick squeeze of the hand. Otherwise, what had she gotten them into?

-:-

“I can’t believe the hike got cancelled,” Jemma complained, looking out the car window. “Just because enough people didn’t sign up for the excursion. Who wouldn’t want to hike Vesuvius?”

_ Me_, Fitz thought, fighting a smile. She looked genuinely disappointed and he didn’t want to get on her bad side by being so obviously thrilled about not having to walk up a mountain on sore feet. It probably wouldn’t do to arrive back onboard in the evening and have Janet see two supposed lovebirds in a snit.

(He was trying his best not to think about the whole fake girlfriend thing, though. Jemma would probably forget about it by lunchtime and he could breathe a sigh of relief--so he thought. He wasn’t actually sure _ what _ he thought.)

“Imagine,” Jemma continued, crossing her arms, “not wanting to see a volcano as famous as Vesuvius. Up close! Think about the opportunities for science we’re missing!”

Taking pity on her, Fitz tapped her knee and pointed out the window to where the infamous volcano took up much of the skyline in the distance. “You’ve got a nice view of it right now at least, yeah? That’s something.”

Once they’d learned their planned excursion had been cancelled due to lack of interest, they had to quickly rearrange their schedule for the day. Now they were taking a private car--an unexpected luxury thanks to Tony Stark’s generosity--down the highway along the Bay of Naples toward the Amalfi Coast. The drive had been pleasant so far; they were currently in the outskirts of Naples, with the sea just visible between the densely-packed buildings bordering the highway to the right and Vesuvius rising to the left. At the excursion desk before they’d left, Jemma had told him she’d booked them a trip out to Positano, a little cliffside village where they could spend the morning relaxing and enjoying the sea.

“It’ll be good for you to get off of your feet for a little bit, especially since we’ll be visiting Pompeii in the afternoon,” she’d said. “And you deserve to relax on your birthday.”

He’d thought that was awfully considerate of her, especially since she’d been so excited for the Vesuvius hike. So he hadn’t complained about having to rush back to their suite and make a few last-minute clothing and bag-packing changes.

“You’re right,” Jemma said, looking out the window toward the volcano. “I can at least say I’ve seen it, I suppose. It’s better than nothing.”

“And we’re still going to Pompeii,” Fitz reminded her. “I know you’re excited about that.”

She nodded, smiling. “I am. But right now I’ve got to do a little research on Positano so I know what to expect once we get there.” She held up her phone. “I hate feeling unprepared.”

Fitz kept his eyes on the passing scenery while Jemma searched for things on her phone. It wasn’t a short drive; there was plenty to look at, from passing towns and the sea in the distance to the approaching mountains, until they entered a long, two-lane tunnel that passed beneath the hills. Fitz leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of light traffic and the quiet warbling of the radio station the driver had on, until he felt sunlight hit his eyelids again.

When he opened them, they were still driving along the coastline, but now they were directly across the bay from Naples and Vesuvius was fully visible instead of just being hills that sloped upwards into the clouds. “Oh, look at that,” he murmured, poking Jemma’s arm. “That’s a nice view.”

She looked up from whatever she was reading on her phone, and her eyes brightened. “Oh, it is,” she breathed. “That’s lovely.” Fitz obliged her by leaning back as far as he could in his seat so she could take a photo out of his window.

As they drove along the road, the view remained beautiful--there were breathtaking views of the sea and the craggy coastline--but it also made Fitz more than a little nervous. The two-lane road hugged the hillside as it wound along the coast with a steep drop down to the sea on their right, and it wasn’t doing well for his fear of heights. At least there was a metal-and-stone fence that prevented them from going over the side, but it didn’t help the churning in his stomach any. He sank down in his seat a bit and tried to keep his focus on the scenery that was visible ahead through the windshield of the car, instead of what was immediately next to him outside his window.

Jemma, noticing him looking a little green around the gills, patted his knee. “We’ll be there soon, Fitz. Don’t worry about the road, we’re perfectly safe.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached Positano what felt like an eternity later. Their driver dropped them off next to a bed and breakfast at the top of the village, which had spectacular views of the myriad of colorful buildings climbing the hillsides.

“Now, we walk,” Jemma said as Fitz adjusted his backpack over his shoulders. “Just a little bit!” she added cheerfully when he glared at her. “Just a bit--just to the beach. Come on.”

He followed her down a steep, narrow staircase to another road, and from there they walked down several more narrow roads and paths down the hillside until the ground finally leveled out. Coming around the side of a small church, the buildings around them opened up and they found themselves on a paved promenade that led to a wide, sand-and-pebble beach--and beyond that, the beautiful blue of the Mediterranean Sea. Jemma’s face lit up and she charged ahead onto the beach, heading for a large bank of umbrellas and beach chairs arranged in rows along the shore.

Selecting a pair on the end of a row, she set her bag down on one of the chairs and smiled up at him. “Right. I’m going to go see about renting this umbrella out for us,” she said. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, or--” She looked around, then pointed behind them. “There’s a walk-up bar over there, you can get us some drinks. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Fitz set his backpack down in the sand next to his beach chair as Jemma walked away, then looked around. It was mid-morning, but there were already a fair few people out on the beach; some relaxed on chairs beneath umbrellas like he planned to, but others were out on the open sand or splashing around in the water. Even more people walked along the shops that lined the promenade, and there were a couple of people seated at the walk-up bar, which made him grin to himself. It was never too early to start drinking, for some people.

Like the two of them, as Jemma had suggested. He didn’t see the harm in having one drink at the beach, so he headed for the bar and looked up at the menu board when he got there. “What can I get for you?” the bartender asked him in heavily-accented English.

Fitz breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to risk badly mangling Italian just to order a beer. Scanning the menu board again and seeing a host of foreign ales he wasn’t wholly familiar with, he decided to be brave and try something new. “Uh, do you have anything local that’s good?” he asked. Jemma would approve of him trying to find something specific to the region.

The bartender grinned at him. “Draft or liquor?”

He thought of Jemma’s preferences again. “Um… liquor. Two, please.”

Eyes twinkling, the bartender raised a finger. “I will give you_ limoncello_,” he said. “Made right here in the Amalfi Coast. You will like it.” He turned to his shelves to pull bottles down and got to work. After a minute, he turned back to him with two frosty glasses filled with ice and a pale yellow liquid, each garnished with a slice of lemon. “_Limoncello_,” he said, sitting the glasses down on the bar and pushing them toward Fitz. “With vodka. Drink it slowly.” He winked at him.

After Fitz paid the bartender, he picked up the two drinks and made his way across the sand back to their umbrella. It looked like Jemma had just returned; she’d kicked off her sandals and was getting settled on her beach chair, smoothing out the skirt of her sundress over her legs and adjusting her sunglasses. When she saw him approaching, she smiled brightly. “What’ve you got?” she asked.

“I thought we could try something local,” Fitz replied, handing one of the drinks off to her. “The guy at the bar said it’s called _ limoncello_. I’m assuming it’s lemon-flavored, what with the name and the color and the lemon slice and all.”

Jemma gave the drink an appraising look as he set his own glass down in his beach chair’s cup holder and started to remove his shoes and socks. “I’d assume so, too,” she said, then took a small sip. Her eyebrows immediately shot up. “_Oh_. That is _ strong_.”

“Is it?” Fitz was shoving his socks inside his shoes, taking care not to get any sand in them. 

“Yes.” Jemma smacked her lips. “It’s got a bit of a tart lemon flavor, but it’s also very sweet. And yes, _ very _ strong. Is there something else in it?”

His feet bare, Fitz wiggled his toes in the warm sand for a second before swinging his legs up onto the chair and leaning back, making himself comfortable. “Yeah, vodka.” He grinned aside at her. “The bartender said to drink it slowly.”

She huffed a laugh. “I’m sure,” she said, and took another sip. He tried a taste of his as well, and found her assessment to be accurate--a little tart, very sweet, strong on the liquor. It was sort of like an alcoholic lemonade, refreshing and perfect for a summer day at the beach.

Next to him, Jemma pulled a paperback book from her bag and opened it up in her lap to read. Fitz settled deeper into his chair and crossed his ankles, intent on relaxing and enjoying his drink. There was a mild breeze blowing in from the sea that felt pleasant, and the beach wasn’t so crowded that it felt overwhelming. The water lapping at the shore looked inviting, and what he could see of the craggy, forested coastline fading into the distance looked like something off a postcard. After the hustle and bustle of the last few days, it was really nice to slow down for a change and just enjoy the scenery with a drink in hand. All in all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend his birthday.

After a while of sitting and slowly nursing his drink he’d almost lulled himself into a doze, content to let his eyes drift half-shut, when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He opened his eyes and looked over to see Jemma lowering her phone, grinning like the cat who’d gotten the cream. He squinted at her. “Did you just take a picture of me half-asleep?” he asked grumpily.

“You looked so peaceful!” Jemma exclaimed, going right past denial of guilt and straight to justification. “The birthday boy, all comfortable in his chair with his drink. It was perfect for Instagram.”

Fitz pulled a face. “Aw _ no_, don’t put it on Instagram!” he whined. “I probably look like a right idiot.”

But Jemma was already tapping away at her phone, still smiling. “You do not,” she said. “Like I said, you looked peaceful. And relaxed. And this is a true holiday experience, isn’t it?” She glanced up at him. “Drinking in the shade at the beach?”

He had to hand that one to her; she was probably right. “I suppose,” he mumbled, draining the last of his drink and settling the glass back in the cup holder. “Just didn’t think we’d ever do it in Italy.”

“There are worse places.” Jemma made one final tap on her phone before slipping it into her bag and looking back up at him. “Are you ready to go into the water?” she asked. “We’ve still got plenty of time left before we have to leave.”

Fitz looked out to the sea and chewed on his lip. Splashing around for a bit in the waves sounded like fun, but as usually happened in circumstances like these, he was feeling a bit body shy. He knew he was pasty and not well-built at all, and didn’t want to do anything that might invite comment on his physique. But Jemma looked so eager, and he knew that he could never really deny her anything. So he nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go see if I remember how to swim.”

“You remember,” Jemma tutted. “Our field assessment wasn’t _ that _ long ago.”

She gathered the hem of her sundress in her hands and shifted to pull the whole thing off over her head, dropping it on the end of her chair, and Fitz almost swallowed his tongue. She was wearing a dark red halter bikini beneath it, and she looked--well--

Of course he knew that Jemma was a woman. He hadn’t been friends with her for as long as he had, much less roommates, not to have noticed. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever really appreciated that fact as much as he did right in this moment. There was so much lovely pale skin on display, which seemed to practically glow in contrast to the deep red of her bikini, and her chest and shoulders were dusted with tiny dark freckles that just begged for his attention. He could admire the tuck of her waist and the soft flare of her hips, the gentle curve of her breasts in--

Realizing he was staring wide-eyed, he looked away quickly before she could notice, feeling his cheeks flush. He was _ not _ ogling his best friend’s breasts. Absolutely not at all.

Why couldn’t she have brought the more conservative one-piece swimsuit she’d worn for their field assessment?

“Aren’t you going to take off your shirt?” Jemma asked, breaking through his haphazard thoughts. “We’ve got to put on sun cream.” She held up a tube of the stuff, wiggling it at him.

Fitz blinked at her, trying to keep his eyes on her face, and swallowed as another burst of insecurity flared up. “Oh--um--yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, and took a deep breath before reaching back over his shoulder to pull his tee off in one motion, leaving him in just his swimming trunks. He draped the shirt over the back of his chair and turned back to Jemma to find her watching him. He fought the urge to hunch into himself and obediently held out his hand to her, palm up, instead. “Ready for the sun cream,” he said.

Smiling, she squeezed a dollop into his hand and he got to work rubbing it into his arms and legs, aware of her doing the same next to him. They traded the tube of sun cream back and forth, making sure they got their faces and chests, until Jemma spoke up again.

“Can you get my back?” she asked, turning around on her chair and looking at him over her shoulder. “I’ll get yours for you, too.”

She wanted him to put his hands on her? “Ah--sure,” he replied, then coughed when his voice came out a little more hoarse than he’d intended. He accepted the tube of sun cream, squeezed a bit out onto his palm, then looked at her. She’d pulled her ponytail forward over her shoulder, baring the full expanse of her back to him. It was almost intimidating, how appealing she looked, but he forced himself not to think about it and carefully began to spread the ointment over her back.

Jemma almost immediately tutted. “You’ve got to really rub it in, I’m not made of glass,” she admonished him, looking over her shoulder at him again.

“Yeah, I know, it’s just--”_ I’m trying not to accidentally manhandle you. _ “I’ve never done this for someone else before. Don’t want to muck it up.”

“You won’t, as long as it’s applied well and you haven’t missed a spot,” she said. “Don’t forget to get beneath the strap, too.”

Swallowing again, Fitz worked a finger beneath the wide band of her halter top, pulling it away from her back so he could smooth some sun cream on the skin beneath. It was a bit too close to undoing the clasp for his overactive imagination’s liking, and he had to bite back a quiet groan as he let the band snap gently back into place.

“There,” he said a minute later, once he’d covered her lower back down to the waistband of her bottoms. “Suppose it’s my turn, now.”

“Thank you, yes,” Jemma said brightly, shifting around on her chair to face him again. She patted the seat directly in front of her. “Come over here so I can reach you.”

Her touch was much more confident than his had been and very clinical in the way her hands lingered just long enough in one spot to work the sun cream into his skin, but it still felt a bit like torture. It reminded him of the foot massage she’d given him the night before in both the best and worst of ways; it felt really nice, but also a little _ too _ nice. He didn’t know if he should feel guilty for enjoying having his best friend’s hands on him. 

_ Relax_, said a quiet voice inside his head (which he suspected was wearing devil’s horns). _ It’s your birthday. It feels nice. _

Still, he wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief he felt when Jemma finished up with a pat to his shoulders. “There, all done,” she said cheerfully, popping the cap back on the tube of cream and stretching to drop it in her bag. “Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

Fitz followed her down to the water’s edge, where the beach was more pebbly than soft sand, and hesitated instead of charging right in the way Jemma did. She noticed he was no longer right behind her when she was shin-deep, and turned around to look at him. “Come on!” she said again. “Are you nervous?”

He shook his head. “No! I like to just kind of… _ ease _ in,” he explained, glancing down at the water lapping at his feet. “So the cold isn’t such a shock.”

“It’s not cold,” Jemma told him, hopping once with a splash. “Not really. It feels wonderful. Come on.”

He took two steps forward into the water and stopped, leaving just his feet submerged. She was right--it really did feel nice, not too cold at all, but it was worth being contrary just to see the way Jemma’s face twisted in aggravation.

“Ugh, Fitz!” she cried. “You’re just being difficult on purpose, aren’t you?” When he only grinned at her she strode over to him, sending up little waves as she went, and grabbed his hand. “Stop being a numpty and come in the water.”

She tugged him deeper into the water with her and he laughed, going along with minimal protest. The way his palm felt tingling against hers, it rather felt like he was the one who’d won a victory.

-:-

They ended up spending a good while in the water--splashing around at first, going in up to their waist and seeing who could make the biggest waves with their arms, soaking each other thoroughly. Then they went in deeper and swam laps along their section of the beach, taking care not to stray too far from where their umbrella and chairs were situated. Jemma taught Fitz how to float on his back, something he’d never quite managed to do before, and they spent several long minutes letting the waves rock them gently back and forth, staring up at the clouds in the sky and the colorful buildings of Positano climbing up the hillsides in front of them. They even challenged each other to see who could hold their breath the longest underwater, which Jemma won by a mile--she was the best swimmer of the two of them.

It was fun, but in a relaxing sort of way--a nice break from the rush of doing typical touristy things like visiting sites and walking through the city. It allowed him to spend time with Jemma just as herself, instead of her being in constant lecture mode. Not that he _ disliked _ her telling him all about the places and things they were seeing, but he enjoyed seeing her relax, too. This was the proper holiday experience, he decided: frosty cold drinks on a picturesque foreign beach followed by a romp in the waves. It was a surprisingly perfect way to spend his birthday. 

And if he was still confused and even a little bit alarmed by how attractive he found Jemma soaking wet in her swimsuit, that was something he could examine in detail at a later date, preferably when she wasn’t right next to him in said swimsuit. Probably he was just suffering from not having seen a beautiful woman up close in a while--it had been _ ages _ since he’d been on a date--and he was just feeling flustered seeing his best friend wearing less than she normally did around him.

Yes, that was it.

When they finally emerged from the water they were both laughing and smiling, in good moods that promised to last for the rest of the day. Fitz pulled out the towels he’d squirreled away in his backpack and they both dried off, then headed to the public toilets to change into dry clothes. It was cramped and a bit dingy and not up to his hygiene standards at _ all_, but in short order he was waiting outside for Jemma wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved button-down with his hiking boots, trying to pat down his damp curls. When she reappeared a few minutes later carrying her swimsuit wrapped up in her towel, she’d changed into a modest tank top and shorts and had combed out her hair and pulled it up into a messy knot. Fitz found himself briefly mourning the loss of the bikini but, he reminded himself, she still looked as lovely as she always did.

“So, I’ve splurged on another bit of luxury for us, using our gracious host’s connections,” Jemma said once she’d joined him, sliding on her sunglasses with a smile.

“Is that so?” he replied, grinning back at her. “Well, out with it, then, I know you’re just dying to tell me.”

After she’d handed him her towel and swimsuit and he’d stuffed them into his backpack, she motioned for him to follow her. To his surprise, she walked back toward the beach instead of up the hill. “Instead of taking a car to Sorrento for lunch, I’ve booked us a private ferry.”

“_Oh_.” Fitz’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s posh. Really going all out for my birthday, hmm?”

She shot him a fond smile over her shoulder as they crossed the sand, heading for a small pier. “I thought it might be nice, yes. It will take about as long to get there as driving would, but the views of the coast are supposed to be spectacular and besides, it’s a unique opportunity! I doubt we’ll ever have the chance to indulge ourselves like this again, so I thought, why not?”

“And it’s not our money, so… sure,” Fitz joked. “Stark’s not going to miss it, is he?”

Jemma laughed. “Doubtful.”

Their ferry, a small, zippy speedboat, was waiting for them when they reached the end of the pier. The captain greeted them cheerfully, confirmed where they were headed, and invited them to come aboard. Within just a few short minutes, they were racing along the coastline, Positano receding into the distance behind them. 

“This is amazing!” Jemma cried, yelling to be heard over the roar of the boat’s engine.

“What?” Fitz shouted, leaning in closer to her. 

“I said, this is amazing!” She leaned back against the bench seat they were sitting on, smiling brilliantly, and gestured out at the view around them. “Look!”

He smiled back at her before turning to gaze out where she’d pointed. The coast was indeed beautiful from this vantage point, just as promised, with the green mountains rising out of the sea dotted here and there with tiny villages tucked into the cliffs. Other small craft were visible out on the water, too, cruising along slowly or speeding off to parts unknown. Zooming across the waves in their own boat, it was easy for Fitz to imagine that he was a true jetsetter himself, living the high life on an exciting getaway with his best friend. Taking a speedboat along the Italian coast was a unique adventure. Was this how Tony Stark lived, every day?

But it wasn’t even the gorgeous scenery or the thrill of riding in a fast boat that he enjoyed the most. It was seeing Jemma have fun. She was a vision: her expression alight with eager excitement, a blinding smile on her face, strands of hair that had come loose from her topknot whipping in the wind. She had her phone out and would periodically take a picture of the coast whenever she spotted a vista that looked particularly nice, and at one point she took one of the two of them sitting huddled close together, with the sea and the boat’s churning wake visible behind them--to make Grimes jealous, she said.

Yes, he’d thought her particularly alluring in her swimsuit earlier, and on some level he always recognized that she was pretty, but right now she just looked luminous. Happy, carefree, and relaxed. It was a departure from the concentrated focus she usually wore at home, and he liked it. It was almost like seeing her in a new light, and he was pleased to think that he had anything to do with it. As they sped around the coast and she leaned against his arm and smiled, he could feel himself start to gain a new sort of appreciation for her.


	7. Naples, Part 2

The shoreline grew more and more densely populated as Fitz and Jemma rode in their boat around the Amalfi Coast, until they finally approached a small marina located at the bottom of a steep cliff face. “This is Sorrento,” Jemma said to him as their boat slowed down to dock at one of the piers that branched off from the concrete sea wall. “I thought we could stop here for lunch before we see Pompeii. It’s supposed to be a very nice town.”

Fitz looked up at what he could see of the town in question above them. The sheer cliffs were very picturesque, and the orange of the tiled roofs on the buildings that lined them gave it all a uniformity that let him pretend he was back in Roman times for a brief moment.

“I’ll let you lead the way,” he said. “Do you already have someplace in mind to eat?”

She shook her head. “I thought we could ask for an expert opinion at the marina. You know, maybe find someplace that’s really _ good _and avoid all the tourist traps. Not sure I want to trust Yelp on this one.”

Once they were docked, they thanked their boat captain for a pleasant trip, and he wished them well before sending them on their way. There was a little pavilion just off the pier where there were a few stands set up for boat tours and other ferry services, and Jemma took them there first to inquire about the best local restaurants. After a short back-and-forth with the friendly man behind the counter, they were on their way again.

“More hills,” Fitz noted dryly, as they made their way up a twisty street that doubled back on itself up through a narrow crevasse, leading to the top of the cliffs and the main part of the town. “We’re getting our hike in anyway.”

Jemma shot him an unimpressed look. “This is nothing like Vesuvius and you know it,” she said. “It’s not far to the restaurant, and then you’ll be able to sit down again. Don’t give me that look, I can always give you another foot rub tonight once we’re back on the ship.”

That shut him up. Memories of Jemma pressing her thumbs into the arch of his foot and how unexpectedly erotic it had felt floated through his brain, and he gave his head a shake to clear it. The last thing he needed was any sort of physical reaction to her suggestion that would leave him wanting to hide and die of embarrassment.

The street they were on leveled out and opened up onto a small square lined with shops and restaurants. “This way,” Jemma said, pulling him down a side street. After a few more twists and turns, she led them to the entrance of an older-looking restaurant that gave off a faintly posh air.

“_Ciao_,” the young woman at the front warmly greeted them. “How many?”

“Just two,” Jemma replied smiling.

The hostess made a note in the book in front of her. “Excellent. Would you like a table indoors or outside in our garden?”

Jemma looked back at Fitz, her eyebrows raised in interest, and her meaning was clear: _ ooh, a garden_. He nodded once. “The weather’s nice,” he told her. “I don’t mind sitting outside.”

She turned to the hostess again. “We’ll take a table outside,” she said.

The hostess smiled. “Wonderful choice, it is very romantic.” She winked at them. “Please follow me.”

Fitz felt his face flush as the hostess left her post to lead them through the restaurant toward the entrance to the garden. Jemma, for her part, didn’t look at him as she followed the other woman, and for that he was glad. Why did people tend to assume they were _ together_? It happened a lot when they went out to eat back home. Just because they were of the opposite gender didn’t automatically mean they were interested in each other. Why couldn’t they just be friends?

Why was he more embarrassed than irritated?

The hostess brought them to a set of glass-paned double doors that led out onto a large stone patio, which was covered by a trellis woven through with the branches of several lemon trees. Small square tables covered in neat white tablecloths dotted the area, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the sea. The hostess walked them over to a table next to a stone wall at the edge of the patio and set their menus down. “Here we are,” she said. “A server will be with you shortly to take your orders. Enjoy your meal.” She smiled at them one last time before leaving.

“This_ is _ nice,” Fitz said as he took his seat, taking in the canopy of leaves and lemons above them and the faint, fresh scent of the fruit wafting in on the breeze, then looking to the panoramic view of the bay of Naples and Vesuvius that was visible out over the wall. He plucked at the pristine tablecloth. “And I guess it could be romantic, if you wanted that sort of thing.” Privately, he thought it was _ very _ romantic, but he wasn’t going to tell Jemma that. No sense in possibly making her feel awkward.

But she just smiled at him. “The man I spoke to at the marina said it was,” she said, looking out at the view over the bay.

Fitz choked slightly on his tongue. “Really? Then why--I mean, we’re not--you could have just asked for somewhere else.”

She shrugged as she looked back at him. “If a restaurant is billed as romantic, it usually means the food is good, too. I didn’t see any harm in it.” Her smile widened. “But it _ is _ a shame Janet isn’t here to see us. I think she’d approve, don’t you?”

His face soured at the reminder that they were technically supposed to be dating for show. Of all the inane things… “Oi, do you have to go bringing her into this?” he mumbled, fidgeting with his silverware. “It’s my birthday.”

Jemma’s expression softened, and she shook her head. “I was just teasing, Fitz,” she said. “I won’t bring it up again.”

They turned their attention to their menus then, and when their waiter arrived, Fitz ordered veal parmigiana while Jemma chose pasta with mussels and roasted peppers. They chose a bottle of wine to split and spent the rest of lunch discussing the various projects they had going in the lab back home, going over the different applications they might have and different ways of approaching them to make the prototypes perform even better out in the field. It was a typical sort of mealtime conversation for them, and put Fitz in a much better mood than lingering over romantic spots or Janet’s nosiness might have.

When they left the restaurant an hour or so later, he was feeling stuffed and wouldn’t have said no to a nap, but he knew Jemma still had some activities planned for them. They met up with their driver from that morning in the little square they’d first come across after leaving the marina, and then they were on their way to Pompeii.

“I think you’ll love it,” Jemma said, angling herself toward him in the backseat of their car. “If you felt like Indiana Jones at the Roman Forum yesterday, you really will there. An entire city, excavated from volcanic ash. There’s so much opportunity for science and education.”

“Which is why you booked us a trip there, I’d bet.” Fitz smiled fondly at her.

She reached out to bat her hand against his knee. “Don’t act like you’re not excited, Fitz. I know you better than that.”

He laughed, raising his hands in mock protest. “I never said I wasn’t! Just that I know _ you _ better, too.” 

Their car dropped them off outside the Sea Gate entrance to the excavation site a good half an hour later. Fitz stretched as he looked around; the rather severe, utilitarian entrance was on one side, and a small restaurant surrounded by souvenir tents and drinks sellers crowded the other side of the street. They each bought an overpriced bottle of water before picking up the brochures that would help them along on their self-guided tour, and went inside.

Jemma was right; he _ did _ enjoy himself even though it meant a lot of walking again, and he did feel a bit like Indiana Jones once more, exploring all of the ruins. Some of them were indistinguishable piles of stone with a placard out front, but others were remarkably well-preserved. There were the remnants of the colorful frescoes and bright paint left on the walls of the bath house, all of the bronze statues and intricate marble pillars at the Forum, and the manicured gardens of the villas belonging to Pompeii’s elite. Fitz thought he liked the villas the best, particularly the House of the Vettii, even if there were an alarming number of frescoes depicting people having sex. He just focused on how nicely maintained the courtyards were while Jemma chattered on about what she knew regarding the preservation and excavation methods used at the site and what the brochure had to say about the meaning behind all the phallic imagery at the villa.

The mid-afternoon sun was hot on their backs as they walked down Pompeii’s streets, but it was relatively easy to ignore as they went from site to site. After going through the House of the Vettii, they visited the ruins of the Teatro Grande, an open-air amphitheater that once held five thousand people. Then they went to the Garden of the Fugitives, where they were able to see plaster casts of victims of the eruption. It was a somewhat somber and humbling sight, seeing those figures frozen in time, laid on the ground in the position they’d died. Neither Fitz nor Jemma said much while they were there; any comments made were done quietly, and Jemma only took one photo for her collection.

The last stop on their tour was Pompeii’s main amphitheater which, according to their brochure, was the oldest surviving permanent structure of its kind in Italy. It wasn’t as impressive as the Colosseum, but it was still fairly large and it was easy to imagine all manner of Roman spectacles taking place on the main gravel floor.

“Do you feel like a proper explorer now?” Jemma asked as they made their way back to the exit.

“I do,” Fitz said. “I’ve got enough photos of me in front of piles of rocks now to send my mum for the rest of her life.”

“Ugh,_ Fitz_,” Jemma huffed, but she was smiling.

They talked about potential plans for the evening on the way back to port, and as they walked through the terminal toward the gangway to reboard the ship Fitz was seriously considering actually taking up Jemma’s offer of another foot rub--it was his birthday, after all, didn’t he deserve something nice?--when Jemma suddenly grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing tight. At his surprised look, she leaned in close and whispered, “Janet’s here.”

Looking ahead, he saw that their busybody fellow passenger was indeed amongst the crowd gathered at the bottom of the gangway, waiting to board. Something vaguely uncomfortable settled in his stomach at the sight of her, and it only grew when she looked up and smiled as she saw them, her gaze lingering on their joined hands.

“Well, hello you two!” she called out brightly as they approached. “How was your day?”

Next to him, he felt Jemma take in a deep breath, and with that came a sense of impending disaster. “Oh, it was _ wonderful_,” she enthused, reaching over to clutch at his arm with her free hand. “It’s Fitz’s birthday, so I took him to Positano for some rest and relaxation.”

“_Oh_, how nice,” Janet replied, nodding in interest. “And a happy birthday to you,” she added, nodding at him as well.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So you went to the Amalfi Coast?” Janet asked leadingly. “That’s supposed to be very romantic.”

“It was!” Jemma replied, squeezing his hand again. “The village was _ so _ lovely, it was perfect, I didn’t want to leave. Then we went to Sorrento for lunch at this adorable little restaurant that the man at the marina said was _ great _ for couples, and I thought, what better place for us?” She glanced up at him, beaming. “So we went, and--”

Fitz disentangled his hand from hers and put an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, Jemma--”

“--Oh, you should have _ seen _ it, it was like having lunch in a fairy tale lemon grove. _ So _ romantic. And then Fitz--” He finally caught her attention with his gentle jostling, and she looked up at him. “Yes?”

“The line’s moving, we should let her get back onboard. I’m sure she’s tired too after her own busy day,” he told her, nodding at Janet, hoping to stem the flow of Jemma’s gushing. Then he smiled for good measure, hoping he was the very picture of a smitten man.

Fortunately, Janet just laughed. “I am a bit tired, I guess. But I’m glad to hear you had such a good day, and that _ things _ are going so well,” she said as she turned to follow the line headed for the gangway. “Hope you have a good evening, and happy birthday again!”

Fitz raised a brief hand in farewell, then dropped his arm from around Jemma’s shoulders as they fell into step a few people behind Janet. Jemma took his hand back up, just for appearances in case Janet looked back, he supposed. “Was that too much?” she asked quietly, leaning into him. “Was it too weird?”

He opened his mouth to reply in the affirmative, then thought better of it when he saw how worried she looked and changed tack. She’d had good intentions. “I think you sold it,” he replied instead. “I don’t think she’s scoping me out for her granddaughter anymore.”

Jemma’s glowing review of their day stuck with him as they boarded the ship and headed for the elevators, though, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he felt a little off in regards to it. Sure, she’d really gone overboard, but it wasn’t her terrible acting skills that had left him feeling unexpectedly glum. Maybe it was the concept of her being so excited to spend the day with him as his girlfriend. He’d never had anyone be so enthusiastic about spending time with him before. But even that was murky and incomprehensible. Was he bummed because _ no one _ had shown that level of excitement for him, or because it was just Jemma in particular who was pretending?

It was all very confusing.

He sighed in relief when they made it back to their suite, setting his backpack down by the sofa to sort through later. “Did you want to go out for dinner?” he asked Jemma, mentally cringing at his use of _ go out_, and turned to her, where she was dropping her own bag on the low table next to him. “Or d’you maybe want to order in again?”

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly alight. “Actually, I made--” A knock on the door interrupted her, and she looked toward the hall, a smile brightening her face. “Oh, they timed that _ perfectly_,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

Curious, Fitz followed her to the door, which she opened to show their butler Harry bearing a rolling cart loaded with silver covered dishes. “Dinner is served!” he announced cheerfully.

“You’re right on time,” Jemma said happily, opening the door wider so he could bring the cart inside. “We just got back.”

“You did say 6:30 p.m.,” he replied, smiling at her as he pushed the cart over the threshold.

Fitz backtracked into the living area so Harry could have room to maneuver. “What’s all this?” he asked, watching as the butler began transferring dishes from the cart to their table.

“This is your special birthday dinner,” Jemma said proudly, clasping her hands together as she came to stand next to him. “I had it all arranged with Harry beforehand so it would be ready when we got back this evening, and we could eat it here instead of going out. I picked some of your favorites.”

Fitz looked on in wonder, speechless as Harry lifted the cover off one of the dishes. “Here we have a choice cut ribeye steak, cooked medium rare,” he said, gesturing to a juicy-looking slab of meat taking up a good portion of the plate. “Along with a loaded baked potato--extra cheese and _ no _ scallions.” He gave them a conspiratorial wink. “And some roasted asparagus.”

“I think that one’s Jemma’s doing,” Fitz managed to joke, feeling his heart lift. Both Harry and Jemma laughed, smiling.

“And finally we have this, just for your birthday,” Harry added, taking the cover off a smaller dish. It revealed possibly the largest slice of chocolate cake Fitz had ever seen, covered in thick, rich frosting and drizzled with chocolate syrup. There was one small candle stuck in the center of it. 

“Now for the honors,” Harry said, producing a lighter from his pocket, and Fitz remembered how to speak properly.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to--” he started, holding out a hand, but the candle was lit and Harry and Jemma were already singing. So he ducked his head and tried to will his blush away, sneaking a glance at Jemma to find that she was beaming as she sang. Her face shone with such affection that it made a lump lodge in his throat, and he had to look away.

Jemma reached out to grab his arm and squeeze it once they were through singing. “Make a wish, Fitz,” she said, gesturing to the lit candle.

Impulsively, Fitz wished for the first thing that came to his mind--not a new successful prototype in the lab or a promotion, but for another happy year with his best friend. Shooting her a smile, he bent over to blow out the candle. Both she and Harry clapped, and he straightened back up.

“Thank you,” he said, just a touch awkwardly, but extremely heartfelt. “Really. This is--it’s a lot. It _ means _ a lot.” He looked to Jemma. “Thank you for thinking of me in the middle of this crazy holiday.”

She was still smiling at him, that soft curve to her lips that spoke of comfort and familiarity and years of companionship. “Of course I did,” she said warmly, touching his arm again. “I couldn’t forget your birthday.”

Harry smiled at them both as he uncovered the last dish, which looked to be Jemma’s dinner--another grilled chicken salad, which he knew was one of her favorites, too. As he moved to uncork the wine, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”

Jemma turned away from Fitz. “Oh, no, this is perfect, you’ve done so much. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Just give me a ring when you’ve finished your meal, then, and I’ll be by to pick everything up. Enjoy.” He sketched a short, polite bow, then turned to head for the door. 

Jemma flashed Fitz a grin, then went to the balcony doors to pull back the curtains and open them. “Let’s eat with the doors open, and let in some of the breeze,” she said. “It’s such a nice evening out, and we can see the sunset.”

Fitz had to agree that the ambience was elevated by having the doors open; he could see the burnished gold of the sky lit by the setting sun, and hear the distant call of gulls at the port and the roar of the surf. He looked up as Jemma adjusted the overhead lighting, dimming it a bit, and was just going to pour them both some wine when she yelped.

“Oh!” she cried. “I almost forgot--I got you something.” He watched as she dashed into the bedroom. His curiosity was definitely piqued, but he went ahead and picked up the wine, and had just finished pouring them each a glass when Jemma returned, carrying a small box wrapped in bright paper.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “I didn’t want you to go without a present on your birthday, either.”

Fitz was so touched he was briefly rendered speechless again. “How--how did you sneak this in while we were packing?” he asked as he took it from her and turned it over in his hands. It didn’t rattle, so there wasn’t anything loose in it. “Or _ un_packing? I had no idea you had this. You didn’t have to.”

Jemma _ tsked _ and folded her arms across her chest. “Did you really think I would wait until we were back home?” She shook her head. “Go on, open it.”

Giving her a bemused look, Fitz tore into the wrapping paper, pulling it away to reveal a plain black box. He turned it from side to side, trying to get an idea of what it might be, before lifting the lid. Then he gasped. 

“Simmons!” he cried, completely forgetting about her request to use her given name. “Did you--you--_bloody hell_.”

Jemma simply smiled, a look of supreme satisfaction coming over her face. “You like it, then?”

“Do I_ like it_.” Fitz huffed and plucked the sleek gold wristwatch from the box, setting the box aside so he could give the watch a closer look. “The new Stark Industries tech watch? With GPS and wireless capabilities and thumbprint recognition? Of course I like it, I’ve been dying for this.” He looked up at her with bright eyes. “This is brilliant. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Oh, just seeing you so pleased is enough for me,” Jemma said, waving a hand in an effort to be humble. But he wouldn’t stand for it--she was always incredibly thoughtful when it came to him, somehow always managing to find the perfect gift for birthdays and holidays. He stepped forward to wrap her up in a hug, feeling his heart pulse with warmth when her arms wound around him in turn.

“Thanks again,” he said against her hair. “I know I’ll get a lot of use out of it.” He made to pull back, but then another fit of impulsivity struck him and, feeling full of affection for her, he kissed Jemma on the cheek.

“_Oh_,” she said softly, and she was biting her lip when he stepped back, her head ducked and a faint bloom of pink on her cheeks. He was struck by the thought that she looked very pretty that way, fetching even, and suddenly he wanted to take her hand and step forward and--

“Let’s eat,” she said, breaking him from his reverie, and then she was moving away to take her seat at the table. “We don’t want the food to get cold.”

Fitz sat down as well, blinking away the absurd urge to properly kiss Jemma--what was_ that_?--and focused on his meal. Fortunately, she was happy to chatter away in between bites of her salad about all of the features of his new watch that she’d read about on the store website and how he could customize them. Fitz’s steak was cooked to perfection and even came with a little ramekin of some kind of dipping sauce that he didn’t recognize, but had a tangy sweetness to it that was delicious paired with the steak. He tore through his baked potato, too, and even ate his asparagus without complaint. It was a perfect birthday dinner; the only thing that could have possibly made it better would have been a phone call from his mum.

“Come on, you have to help me eat it,” he said, waving his fork between Jemma and the slice of chocolate cake. “It’s too rich, I can’t finish on my own.”

“That sounds like a lie,” Jemma replied, but she was smiling. “I don’t doubt for a second that you could eat that entire cake all by yourself. Besides, I’m still trying to watch what I eat.”

Fitz groaned. “Oh, that’s rubbish. We’re on holiday! Every day is a cheat day here.” He sliced into the cake with his fork, scooping up a generous bite of sponge and frosting. “Look at this. It is--” He wiggled the fork at her before stuffing it in his mouth. “Mmm, the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had,” he finished, mumbling around his mouthful of food.

Jemma laughed. “Don’t be so crude,” she said, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. But then she picked up her fork and took a small bite. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, licking a stray bit of frosting off the fork. “That _ is _ good.”

Fitz crowed triumphantly. “Ha! See? Knew you’d like it. Come on now, it’s not going to finish itself.”

Once they’d finished off the cake, cheerfully bickering the entire way, Jemma decided it was time to venture out for a bit of late evening fun. “I know we’re not at home so we can’t go down to the bar for drinks like we usually do for your birthday, but the ship has a disco or two--”

“Eurgh, no thank you,” Fitz shuddered. He couldn’t think of much he’d like less than a crowded, dark room with loud, thumping bass music and a press of sweaty bodies. 

Jemma looked up from where she was slipping her sandals back on. “Oh, so you’d rather go to the Irish pub they’ve got? What if it’s horribly twee? I’m not sure I trust a cruise line catering mostly to American guests to really get it right.”

He shrugged. “At least they’ll have beer on tap. And maybe darts. Or they’ll have the telly on and we can just get pissed and yell at whatever game they’ve got on.”

“You mean _ you’ll _ get pissed and yell at the telly,” she said, standing up straight. “_I’ll _ get pissed and keep my decorum because one of us has to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz said, waving her off. “So are we going, or not?”

It turned out that the Irish pub--O’Malley’s, it was called--really was very twee and stereotypical, right down to the green shamrocks in the stained glass ceiling centerpiece, but they had Benderry’s, so it wasn’t a total waste. Fitz and Jemma settled themselves on stools at the bar and ordered a pint each, and it wasn’t long before Fitz was heckling the television behind the bartender, which was showing reruns of tennis, of all things. He didn’t understand the intricacies of the game but it was easy to boo when someone missed the ball with their racket or hit the net, or made mistakes that seemed easily avoidable from a spectator’s point of view. Jemma was able to sweet-talk the bartender into giving them a free round of drinks since it was Fitz’s birthday, through he tried very hard to ignore the fact that said sweet-talking involved batting her eyelashes and leaning forward over the bar in a blatant display of flirting.

But they had a second round of beer, so he couldn’t complain too much. 

It was just like any other birthday he’d spent with her, except that they were on a cruise liner in the middle of the Mediterranean and he was beginning to have stray thoughts about her that were, admittedly, a bit perplexing and alarming but could definitely be put off by another pint of Benderry’s.

The convenience of drinking in the same place they were staying, in addition to being at-sea the following day and therefore having nowhere to go, lead them to drink more than they might normally have. By the time they made it back to their suite sometime a little past midnight, they were both well beyond drunk, giggling and laughing and stumbling into each other as they tried to get back inside the door.

“I’ll get you to go to the disco with me,” Jemma was saying as she slid along the hallway’s wall. “I want you to go with me!”

“_Jemmaaaaaa_.” It was definitely a whine, but Fitz wasn’t too proud to pout, not several pints in. He fumbled for a moment with getting the door shut and locked behind them, then turned back to her. “They’re too crowded. And I don’t like dancing. I don’t know how!”

Jemma smiled at him, wide and bright and just a little too eager. “Then I’ll teach you!” she said, leaning forward to swipe at his hand. She missed once before grabbing onto it, and pulled him after her into the living area. “Here, we can do it right now.”

“Now? But--” Fitz, who was fully expecting his best friend to start dancing up against him like people in clubs did and wasn’t prepared for it at all, was subsequently baffled when she stood up straight in front of him and held out her arms in a traditional dancing position. He blinked at her for a second before bursting out laughing. “No--that’s--that’s,” he wheezed, doubled over at the waist. “We can’t go to a disco and dance like _ that. _”

“But it’s dancing,” Jemma said stubbornly, gesturing for him to come closer with her hands. “It’s a start.”

“Are you sure this is the best--”

“Come _ on_.”

Fitz snorted and stepped forward to take Jemma’s hand in his, privately thrilling at the way his palm tingled at her touch just the way it had all the other times he’d held her hand on this trip. Then he carefully slid an arm around her waist as she settled her free hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be so rubbish at this, you’ll regret it,” he mumbled, staring down at their feet. 

“Nonsense,” Jemma replied, with all the confidence of the highly inebriated. “Now, it’s a three pattern, and since you’re leading, you start off on your right foot--I think--” They both dissolved into laughter as they stepped off and Fitz immediately trod on her foot, stopping them in their tracks.

“You _ think_?” he asked, squeezing his fingers around hers. “Shouldn’t you be leading? I haven’t got a ruddy clue what I’m doing.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Jemma assured him, still giggling. “Okay, and, one-two-three, go--”

They moved in fits and starts around the open part of the living area, with Jemma trying to count out the rhythm but collapsing into laughter more often than she could keep a straight face, and Fitz was laughing too. He was right--he was absolutely terrible at it--and he was fairly sure that being stone cold sober wouldn’t help him get any better.

But he was having fun, though. Being this close to Jemma, holding her in his arms, having her laughing and smiling, was leaving him with a light and funny feeling in his chest that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with all the alcohol he’d consumed. Or mostly not, at any rate. It was a feeling he found that he liked, and wanted to hold onto--he wanted to make Jemma smile like this more--but the thought slipped away every time he stepped on her foot or she stepped on his, making them crumble on the spot and laugh more than he could remember laughing in a long while.

Finally they gave up, and Fitz went and flopped backwards onto the bed, his head spinning with beer, merriment, and overwhelming affection for his best friend. “I’m done,” he said. “This is it. I can’t move anymore, I’m going to sleep right here.”

He heard Jemma tut, and a second later he felt her shake his knee. “Get up,” she said. “At least put your pajamas on. You’ll hate yourself in the morning if you sleep in your clothes.”

He cracked one eye open to see her moving past the bed and into the walk-in closet, ostensibly going for her own sleep clothes. He laid there for a moment, unable to think much beyond the thought that Jemma cared so _ much _ and it was wonderful, before he forced himself up to follow her.

They moved around each other in the bathroom with practiced ease as they got ready for bed, despite being drunk. That was an advantage to sharing a bathroom with only one sink: you learned to maneuver carefully. Still, Jemma made it into bed before he did, and she already had the lamps off when he came out of the bathroom to crawl beneath the blankets beside her.

“G’night, Jemma,” he muttered as he settled in, a yawn cracking his face. 

“Goodnight, Fitz,” came her sleepy mumble. Another surge of affection for her welled up in him, and he felt like his heart might burst for a moment. She really was the best friend he ever could have asked for, and she’d made sure that he’d had a very good birthday. Suddenly it was very important to him that she know that.

“And hey,” he said quietly, rolling onto his back. “Thank you. For today. I had a really good day.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Jemma replied through the dark, her voice sounding warm and fond. “I’m glad you had a good day.”

Still feeling like he had a point to drive home, Fitz rolled over again so he was facing her, and carefully crowded in against her back, slipping an arm over her waist and pressing his cheek against the back of her shoulder in the best approximation of a hug that he could muster.

“No, really,” he mumbled, completely heartfelt. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

After a pause he felt her hand slide over his, giving his fingers a light squeeze, and really, that was the best response she could have given. He made a happy, contented noise and held her closer, thinking that he would hug her for just another moment--just long enough to show her how much she meant to him, how happy she’d made him that day.

Just one more moment.


	8. At Sea

The first thing Jemma was aware of when she woke up the next morning was a dull pounding in her head--relentless, throbbing, making her groan softly when she tried to open her eyes and bright sunlight assaulted them. That, and her mouth tasted like old, dirty socks. She must have had more to drink the night before than she’d realized; she hadn’t had a hangover like this in a while.

The next thing she noticed was a warm, slightly heavy weight against her back. It took her a moment, as muddled as she was with hangover and sleep, to realize that it was Fitz. _ Fitz. _ Fitz, curled around her back with his forehead pressed to the base of her neck and his arm slung loosely over her waist, as close as he could possibly be.

A hot shock of _ something _ ran through her body, and she knew she should move, or feel embarrassed, or wake him up and apologize, or something that involved shame for waking up in a semi-compromising position with her best friend--but she didn’t. Maybe it was the hangover fogging her brain, but it… felt nice. Pleasant. Safe. She vaguely remembered that Fitz had rolled over to give her a hug the night before, and evidently they’d fallen asleep that way. It was sweet, if you thought about it. Innocent.

Something not so innocent was the fact that she could _ feel _ him, the evidence of his morning erection just nudging against the underside of her bum. Her cheeks flushed even though she knew it wasn’t something he had any conscious control over--it was just a normal biological process. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know that Fitz had working male parts; she just chose not to think about it most of the time, keeping him safely compartmentalized in the box in her mind labeled _ friend_. But she was naturally curious, always had been, and she could admit to wondering: what would happen now if she stretched, all cat-like, and rubbed against him? How would he react? Would he groan? Would he wake up, brought to life by her teasing, and whisper her name? Would he curl a hand over her hip and slowly thrust back against her--

Okay, that was definitely the hangover talking. It was possible she was even still drunk if she was having thoughts like that. Time to get up, then.

Cheeks burning, Jemma carefully pulled away from Fitz, trying not to wake him, and got out of bed. The room spun slightly as she stood up, and she put a hand out for balance; fortunately she didn’t fall over, and when she looked back at Fitz, he only whuffled and buried himself deeper into his pillow.

She smiled softly at him despite the lingering embarrassment over her dirty thoughts. He almost looked angelic in his sleep. She was tempted to take a photo but refrained, knowing if there was even a hint on her Instagram that they were sharing a bed, they would never hear the end of it from their coworkers (or their parents).

She walked into the living area, holding up a hand to shield her poor eyes from the sunlight, and pulled a bottle of water from the minifridge before padding back into the bathroom. There, she rummaged through her toiletries until she found the small bottle of aspirin she always carried with her on trips, and popped the cap to dole out four pills: two for her and two for Fitz. She took her dose with a long sip of water, then took both the bottle and Fitz’s dose out into the bedroom to leave them on the bedside table for Fitz when he woke up.

Then Jemma treated herself to a nice, long shower. Their lack of itinerary for the day meant she didn’t have to rush, and the extra time under the rainfall showerhead helped to ease the ache in her skull. It also provided her with time to let her mind wander, her thoughts straying back to Fitz as she rinsed shampoo and conditioner from her hair. It really had been nice to wake up next to him like that, embarrassing thoughts aside. She’d never brought a boyfriend home to the apartment she shared with Fitz, and very rare was the time she’d spent the night with one. She’d certainly never woken up cuddling. Was that what it could be like, if she was truly Fitz’s girlfriend?

She considered her decision to pose as his sweetheart. It had been rash and not very well thought out, but Fitz had seemed to take to it easily enough after his initial shock. And it hadn’t felt awkward at all when they’d put on a show for Janet, not the way she’d feared it would be. It had felt… surprisingly right. And not all that different from how they usually treated each other. It was regular Fitz and Jemma, just with a little something extra.

But it was silly to think all of this, wasn’t it? Fitz was just her best friend; he didn’t see her as anything more, and she didn’t want anything more from him. She was just trying to save him from the misery and mortification of being set up with a girl he didn’t even know, who was completely not his type.

Shower musings the morning after a night out were always a mess, Jemma concluded.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed for the day and her damp hair pulled up into a knot, she felt considerably better. She was pleased to find Fitz awake, even if he was still in bed and looking distinctly ill. The aspirin was gone from the bedside table, as was most of the water left in the bottle.

“Morning,” he mumbled when he saw her, his voice gravelly with sleep, and winced as he pushed a hand through his hair. It stuck up even more. “I feel like shite.”

“Well…” Jemma said. “That does tend to happen when one has had too much to drink. Has the aspirin helped any?”

He nodded, then seemed to regret it and rolled over to smush his face into his pillow. “Yeah.” He was silent and still for a long moment. “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t look at my phone when I got up.” She came over to perch on the edge of her side of the bed. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

Fitz made an indistinct noise. “I feel…” He sighed and rolled onto his back again, blinking up at her. “Do we have to go out? I’m not prepared to deal with humanity right now.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile. He was more adorable than he had a right to be, all grouchy and rumpled and hungover. “No, we can order in,” she told him, feeling affectionate. “I’d prefer it too, actually. If you tell me what you want, I’ll go call. You can have a shower in the meantime. It might help you feel better--it really helped me.”

Fitz laid still for a moment longer before groaning and pushing up to sit. “Yeah. Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Give me a minute.”

He ended up ordering as close to a full English breakfast as he could get, while she opted for oatmeal with lemon scones. They ate at their table with the curtains on the balcony doors pulled shut and the lights dimmed, enjoying the opportunity to stave off a headache for just a little while longer. Fitz was engrossed in his meal--as was typical--but Jemma found herself distracted by how he looked, damp-haired and barefoot in just a tee and jeans. It was a simple sort of attractive that she suddenly found very appealing. He presented himself that way often at home on weekends, though; why was she taking particular note of it now? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about the way he’d felt, pressed up against her in bed?

Once they were through eating, they discussed what they wanted to do with their day. Jemma thought going for a walk around the ship’s jogging track up on the top deck might be nice, but Fitz was hard to convince.

“All I’m saying is, this is our day off. Why would I _ want _ to walk when I don’t absolutely have to?” he asked the ceiling. He was lying flat on his back on the bed again, his feet dangling off the end.

“I think it would help,” Jemma reasoned from her perch on the sofa. “I know we both feel under the weather _ now_, but if we drink water and get out and about, the exercise really will help us feel better.”

Fitz grunted. “I don’t believe you. The only thing making me feel better right now is heaps of tea and this room staying dark.”

She laughed gently. “You’ve got to get over the bump first. You’ll see.” When he didn’t reply, just continued to scowl at the ceiling, she added, “Do you really want to stay in here all day and read your tablet?”

He shrugged expressively. “That doesn’t sound so bad, honestly,” he said. “A holiday from our holiday.”

She took a minute to consider what he said. She did acknowledge that she’d planned them very busy schedules in every port of call they made, and that slowing down for a day wasn’t such a bad idea. They’d hit the brakes a bit for his birthday. But they could still get out for some fresh air and keep things low-key, couldn’t they? She angled herself more towards him on the sofa and gave him her most winsome smile, even though he wasn’t looking at her.

“Come on, Fitz,” she said. “Just a short walk. I promise you’ll feel better. Please?” He rolled his head to look at her, and she let her smile grow. “Please? We can do whatever you like after lunch, I swear. Even if it’s just sitting here in the dark.”

Fitz closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Alright. You win. Let me go find some socks.”

It turned out to be a beautiful day at sea, bright and warm, necessitating the use of sunglasses out on deck to shield their eyes from the glare. Fitz only grumbled a little as they made their way up onto the jogging track, then he was happy to talk science with her as they wound around other groups of walkers and filed out of the way of actual joggers. They kept their pace leisurely, aiming to simply be active rather than genuinely exercise, and by the time they’d made a few circuits around the track, Jemma could confidently say that she really did feel better. She was willing to bet that Fitz would say the same, if pressed.

They let their conversation meander between their progress on the Golden Retrievers at work, to a documentary on the Amazon they’d recently watched, to Jemma’s continued work with dendrotoxins and the potential uses they could find for it, until they both admitted they were thirsty. They had just left the track and were headed in the direction of the poolside bar and grill for a drink when they ran into Janet, who was with a gaggle of her church friends.

“Hello again!” Janet called cheerfully. Then she turned to the women she was with. “Ladies--this is Fitz and Jemma, that couple I’ve been telling you about. Fitz, Jemma, this is Joanne, Susan, and Ellen.” Everyone smiled as they exchanged hellos, and Janet added, “He may have ended up being off the market for my Ashley, but don’t these two just make the cutest couple?”

Next to her, Fitz gave a somewhat awkward grin, but Jemma hooked her hand around his arm and smiled up at him brightly, determined to look every inch the pleased, besotted girlfriend. The other women cooed over them, commenting on how happy they looked and how adorable they were until Fitz was red in the face. Fortunately, they took it as him just being shy and in the flush of a new relationship instead of him actually being embarrassed or uncomfortable. As long as they thought the two of them were a couple and blissfully in love, it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to watch the afternoon movie?” Janet asked. “I don’t know what they’re playing yet, but me and the girls thought it would be nice to get outside.”

“Oh--” Jemma glanced up at Fitz as he looked at her, his eyebrows raising. “I didn’t know there was one on,” she said, turning back to Janet. “Where is it?”

“The pool deck,” Janet explained. “You know, that large screen they have up above it? You sit in the deck chairs and they’ve got popcorn and everything. We caught the late movie the other night, they showed _ Mamma Mia_. It was fun.”

One look at Fitz told Jemma exactly what he thought about watching a film like _ Mamma Mia_, but she felt reasonably confident that this ship’s entertainment crew wouldn’t show the same film twice in one voyage. Spending a few hours relaxing outdoors while watching a movie sounded like a fun way to pass the time--sort of like visiting a drive-in. She didn’t have any better ideas, anyway. “What do you think?” she asked Fitz, looking up at him again. “I think a movie date sounds nice.”

She saw his eyes widen a fraction--he hadn’t missed her use of the word _ date_\--but then he swallowed. “Sure,” he said, and shrugged. “I mean--yeah, I guess, we aren’t really doing anything else. A movie’s fine.”

Janet beamed. “How nice! We can all sit together.”

As she turned to lead the way to the pool deck and they fell into step behind her group, Jemma leaned into Fitz and said quietly, “We don’t have to sit _ with _ her if you’d rather not. We can just sit… nearby. If she asks, maybe we can just--say we wanted some privacy?” Her voice went up in pitch on the end, turning it into more of a question than a statement.

Fitz looked slightly alarmed. “Privacy?” he said, sounding a little choked. “What for? You aren’t--uh--I mean--it’s broad daylight, it’s not like we can pretend to make out in the back of a theater--”

“No!” Jemma felt her cheeks heat up. “No, not anything like_ that_. I just meant--” What had she meant? What else would a couple possibly want privacy during a movie for? She grasped for something to say, even as she considered that she wasn’t outright rejecting the possibility of a kiss. “Well, maybe we’d want to talk, and we wouldn’t want to bother them.”

“Right.” When she chanced a peek up at him, Fitz’s cheeks were flushed, too. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want them chucking popcorn at our heads, yeah?” He gave her an awkward smile, and Jemma felt an odd vein of heat curl through her at how flustered he looked.

When they reached the pool, there was already a small crowd scattered amongst the deck chairs waiting for the movie to start. Janet immediately headed for a group of empty seats clustered together; Jemma led Fitz to two that were just in front of them. “Is this alright?” she asked him.

He glanced at Janet, who was talking away with her friends as they got settled, and nodded. “This is fine. Hey--how about you stay here and save our seats, and I’ll go get us some popcorn, yeah?”

She smiled up at him and nodded back, her grin widening as he turned to walk toward the bar where the popcorn vendor was set up. Then, looking around surreptitiously, she scooted her chosen deck chair closer to Fitz’s, until they butted right up against each other. It would probably sell their relationship better if they snuggled like a couple might during the movie.

Fitz returned just as the opening titles began up on the large screen, bringing with him the promised bag of popcorn and a large soda. She knew he’d noticed her moving their chairs together by the tilt of his eyebrows, but he didn’t comment; instead, he said, “It’s a movie,” and shrugged when she looked pointedly at his drink. “You have to.”

He handed her the soda and the popcorn while he got settled; she took a long sip, knowing he meant for them to share, but looked over at him when he stretched his arm out across her shoulders and shifted closer. He was watching her carefully. “So, um--so Janet doesn’t get suspicious,” he explained, his expression hinging on nervous. “If that’s alright?”

A warm burst of affection mixed with eager anticipation washed through her. _ What on earth? _ “Yes--yes, that’s quite alright,” she replied, smiling at him, and she relaxed into his side. A moment later, she felt him relax too, his arm draping a little more comfortably around her.

They spent most of the movie that way. One of the _ Mission: Impossible _ films was on; which one, Jemma couldn’t have said, but it was decently entertaining for what it was. Fitz seemed to be absorbed in all of the high-speed chases, at least. She kept the popcorn in her lap and let him pick at it whenever he liked while he kept a hold on the soda and readily shared it with her. They actually did talk, occasionally; not loudly, not like she had inferred they would, but just quiet commentary on the plot here and there. It wasn’t too unlike a normal movie night for them back home--except, of course, for the added physical proximity.

She found that she rather liked it. Fitz was comfortable to lean against, and it felt right--not weird, like she was getting too personal with a brother or anything like that. She’d wondered if it would, on the rare occasion she’d let her mind go down the path of what it might be like to _ be _ with him: if they would naturally mesh together, or if it would feel like crossing an uncomfortable line. But she enjoyed relaxing in his arms now, just as she’d liked waking up with him wrapped around her.

It came as a relief, though it left Jemma slightly surprised. What did that mean for her--for them? How did she really feel about being Fitz’s girlfriend, pretend or otherwise? Did she _ want _ to be in a romantic relationship with him? They had been friends for so long now that, as easy as their current arrangement felt, the prospect of shifting to something else was a bit daunting.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She had no idea how Fitz felt. And the more she thought about it as she watched cars and trucks and planes alike explode on-screen, the more she resolved to eventually push it away. She was on a cruise. She was supposed to be having fun, not spinning her mental wheels in angst over the idea of dating her best friend. This was just a harmless exercise to save him from someone else’s nosy snooping. It wasn’t anything to get too far inside her own head about.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit of disappointment when the movie ended and Fitz stretched, pulling his arm back out from around her. “That was actually pretty good,” he said, smiling at her, and her heart did a little flip in her chest at how boyishly handsome the lopsided tilt of his grin made him look. _ Stop that. _

“It was,” she replied airily, aiming for casual in order to mask how confused her inner thoughts and feelings were. “If you like that sort of thing.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. “‘If you like that sort of thing.’ Sometimes, Simmons, you just have to sit back and watch some explosions.”

“Jemma,” she reminded him quietly. He comically winced, and she patted his knee before standing, taking their trash from his hands. “I’ll just go find a bin to toss this in.”

As she turned away, she saw Janet and her friends behind them standing up as well, talking amongst themselves. Their eyes met. “What did you think of the movie?” the older woman asked.

Jemma shrugged amiably. “It was fun for something to do in the afternoon.” Beside her, Fitz looked up from where he was still sitting. “And I got to sit close to my boyfriend for two hours.”

Janet laughed. “Yes, I can see how that would be a plus,” she said. Fitz had looked away again, and Jemma couldn’t read his expression. “What do you think you’ll do now?” Janet asked, drawing Jemma’s attention back to her. “We’re thinking about getting some lunch down in the main dining room. You’re more than welcome to join us if you like.”

Glancing down at Fitz, Jemma saw that his jaw had set even though he wasn’t looking at her. She smiled softly at him before turning back to Janet. “We had a late breakfast so we’re not very hungry yet,” she said. “Especially not after all the popcorn we just ate. But thank you for the offer.”

Janet smiled back. “Maybe another time then,” she said, waving as she turned to leave with her friends. “Have a good afternoon!”

Jemma waved goodbye after her, then faced Fitz again. “Aren’t I a good girlfriend?” she joked lightly. “Saving you from having to spend an entire meal facing potentially awkward and embarrassing questions. And from pretending like you’re madly in love with me.”

Fitz huffed a laugh as he looked back up at her, giving her a wry smile. “As if pretending I like to be around you is a hardship.” She thought she saw a flicker of something indefinable in his eyes, but brushed it away as just her imagination. She smiled back at him.

“Come on, let’s get all of this thrown away,” she said, gesturing with the empty popcorn bag and soda cup in her hands. “Then we can decide what we want to do next.”

They ended up going to the café on the bottom floor of the Plaza to people-watch and poke around on their phones. Fitz got some raspberry gelato from the gelato bar, then connected to the ship’s wifi to email his mum about his birthday and tell her about their trip so far. Jemma limited herself to a cup of tea and got caught up on Instagram, uploading all of the photos she hadn’t had a chance to get to yet and going through the comments on the ones she had. She relayed some of the better ones to Fitz, whose reaction varied depending on the content. If it was a coworker exclaiming over the beautiful scenery or how good their food looked, it was laughter; if it was Grimes talking about how adorable they looked together, he rolled his eyes and busied himself with his gelato and his phone.

Once they were through catching up on social media and email, a couple of hours had passed, and they both agreed they were getting a little hungry--though Jemma teased Fitz for still having an appetite despite eating his gelato earlier. Fitz pretended to ignore her, saying he had to feed his demanding metabolism or else he’d get cranky on her, and there was definitely no way she wanted _ that_. His proposed solution was an early dinner, which Jemma accepted. They chose to keep things light and casual by eating at the outdoor bar and grill located on the pool deck, which also gave them another opportunity to enjoy the warm breeze and salty sea air.

After they were through eating, the topic of what to do for the evening came up.

“I’m not very interested in any of the live shows,” Fitz said, scratching at his chin. “They all look a little… I dunno, hokey? Vegas-style? It’s not really my thing.”

Jemma had to admit that she wasn’t particularly interested in seeing some Michael Bublé knockoff singing showtunes either. “What about the art gallery?” she suggested. “They do auctions. We could get something for the apartment.”

Fitz made a face. “Really?” His nose wrinkled. “We’re seeing plenty of art galleries and museums as it is, and besides, where would we fit a painting or large photo frame in our luggage?”

“Good point,” she acceded. “Hmm. Maybe the casino?”

He shook his head. “I thought the whole point of this holiday is that it’s _ free_. I don’t want to go blow a load of cash on slots. And we’re both rubbish at cards, you know that.”

“That’s not true,” Jemma countered. “You beat everyone at blackjack at the Academy.”

“Only because they were drunk and I wasn’t,” Fitz reminded her.

She hummed, unconvinced, but let it drop, sighing instead. “What about…” She slid her eyes over to him speculatively. “We could try one of the discos. We haven’t done that yet.”

Fitz made another displeased face. “Jemma, I already told you last night I didn’t want to,” he groaned.

She kicked at his foot beneath the table. “You were drunk! You’re not supposed to remember you said no.”

“And you’re supposed to know me well enough to know clubs aren’t my thing either, drunk or not.”

Jemma couldn’t quite keep herself from pouting. For some reason, the idea of getting Fitz with her inside a dark, thumping club and letting loose was very appealing. Maybe it was because he didn’t let his guard down that often, and she wanted to see him do it. This was supposed to be an adventure, after all. But she wasn’t going to push him if he really didn’t want to--not right now, at least. She could always try again some other time. They still had a full week left.

“Oh, alright, you’re no fun,” she muttered, heaving an exaggerated sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fitz grin brightly. Fighting a smile herself, she looked out across the bar and to the deck beyond at all of the other passengers eating, strolling, and going about their business. They were really running out of options, unless they wanted to go back to their suite and watch telly for the rest of the evening, which seemed like an awful waste to her. She wasn’t yet ready to pack it in for the night.

Then she caught sight of a family of four splashing around in the shallow end of the pool and felt inspiration strike. “Oh, Fitz,” she said, straightening up and reaching out to touch his arm. “We could spend some time here at the pool. Swimming, hot tub, doesn’t matter--we had fun at the beach yesterday, didn’t we?”

Somewhat to her surprise--he’d turned down every other suggestion she’d offered, after all--Fitz brightened. “Yeah,” he replied eagerly, sitting up as well. “Yeah, we did.”

“We could have something to drink again,” she said.

“But not too much,” Fitz warned, making a face. “I think I’m still a little hungover from last night.”

Jemma’s face screwed up to match his. “Oh, definitely not too much. I don’t think I could bear sightseeing with a hangover.”

-:-

Their evening activity decided on, Fitz and Jemma settled their tab and headed back to their suite to get changed into their swimsuits. Fitz did his best not to openly stare at Jemma in her halter bikini as she moved around the bedroom and the closet, gathering everything she needed, but it was a near thing. She was just so damn _ attractive _ in it. Did she realize she was going to turn every head on the deck when they got there? 

It occurred to him then that maybe that was the point--that Jemma had bought her suit with that very goal in mind. It put a slight frown on his face. The idea that she wanted to draw male attention to herself left something odd and sour swirling in his gut that he didn’t think he liked. He didn’t _ own _ her; what did it matter if Jemma wanted men to ogle her?

It was just a stupid swimsuit.

But it was still bothering him as they walked out to the pool deck together a few minutes later, feeling acutely aware of how thin and weedy he looked with his shirt off. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he was certain that Jemma at least was getting looks of the sort he had feared. A discreet glance in her direction showed that she was unaffected, either unaware or pretending not to notice. It made him feel slightly better--soothing that irrational possessiveness he was feeling--and told him that maybe all the beers he’d had last night had probably gone to his head.

Then Jemma grabbed his arm. “Ooh, look, one of the hot tubs is empty!” she cried, pointing. “Let’s grab it while we can. That would be an amazing way to relax.” She let go of him to dart ahead and claim their prize, leaving Fitz to stare after her as his steps slowed. Sitting alone with Jemma in a hot tub? With nothing to distract him from how lovely she looked? He gulped, a host of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. How was he going to keep himself from mooning over her like an idiot?

Maybe he could blame it on his fake boyfriend persona. But Janet wasn’t out on deck, so there was no one to perform for. _ Shite_. He needed to get ahold of himself.

By the time he reached the hot tub, Jemma had already unwrapped her sarong from around her waist and slipped into the jetted water, sighing happily as she settled down on the bench. “The water feels _ amazing_, Fitz,” she said, beaming at him, and he had to swallow again and remind himself that she was _ not _ in fact his girlfriend. Blinking, he turned his attention back to her. 

“It’ll feel so nice on your feet, if they’re still sore,” she was saying. “Oh! Since you’re not in yet, could you run to the bar and get us some drinks?”

When she smiled at him like that, it was impossible to say no. “Sure, what do you want?” he asked.

Jemma leaned against the side of the tub as she thought, and Fitz tried to ignore how the water lapped against the curve of her breasts. “A daiquiri, please,” she said. “A big one.”

“One big daiquiri, coming right up.” He sketched a tiny salute, which made her laugh, before turning and heading for the bar. 

He opted to get a daiquiri for himself, too--it appealed to his sweet tooth, and Jemma would like the symmetry of their orders--and while the bartender was busy making their order, Fitz leaned against the counter and looked back across the deck toward the hot tub. A jolt went through him when he saw that Jemma was no longer alone: a man was now standing next to the hot tub, and appeared to be in conversation with her. She was looking up at him, smiling and nodding along to whatever it was that he was saying.

A hot flush of what was unmistakably jealousy rolled through him, and Fitz sucked in a breath as he glanced back impatiently at the bartender. How long did it bloody take to make two daiquiris? Looking back at Jemma, she was still smiling and talking animatedly to the other man who, he couldn’t help but notice, was tall and fit. Had he noticed Jemma immediately and pounced the second Fitz had left? He couldn’t even begin to untangle the mass of feelings roiling in his chest; all he knew was that _ he _ wanted to make her smile like that, and the faster he chased this interloper away, the happier he’d be. The man probably couldn’t even do basic arithmetic. 

“Two strawberry daiquiris, ready to go,” the bartender announced, pulling Fitz from his thoughts. He snatched them up and made his way back to the hot tub as quickly as he could without spilling them.

“One large daiquiri, just as requested,” he said when he arrived, holding out Jemma’s drink to her and desperately hoping he looked cool, rather than put-out.

“Thank you!” she said brightly, smiling up at him. Then she looked at Tall, Dark, and Handsome, who appeared to be surprised at his arrival. “Alan, this is my boyfriend, Fitz,” she said. “Fitz, this is Alan. He just stopped by to ask how I was liking the hot tub.”

Fitz didn’t know if Jemma was truly that oblivious to when a man was hitting on her or if she was playing dumb on purpose, but he couldn’t deny the deep--if confusing--satisfaction he got out of hearing her tell this man he was her boyfriend. _ Especially _ when Tall, Dark, and Handsome proceeded to look very uncomfortable with this new information. 

“You didn’t say you had a boyfriend,” he said, shifting his weight on his feet.

“It hadn’t come up yet,” Jemma replied blithely, taking the straw in her drink and bringing it to her lips for a sip. “Mmm, that’s really good. Thank you again, Fitz.”

Instead of pondering her motives like he really wanted to, Fitz just smiled widely at Alan. “Yep, that’s me,” he quipped. “The boyfriend.”

“Right,” Alan said slowly, looking between the two of them. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to the bar to get something to drink. It was nice meeting you, Jemma. And, uh, Fitz.”

He beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the bar, and Fitz watched him go with barely-concealed glee. Jemma just waved as she slurped at her daiquiri. Once he was out of sight, Fitz turned to climb into the hot tub, carefully holding his drink aloft so he didn’t spill it. Now that they were alone, he had questions.

“Why did you tell him I’m your boyfriend?” he asked as he settled himself next to her in the warm water. “Janet isn’t here.”

Jemma shrugged lightly. “Well--you never know who talks to who on these cruises,” she said around her straw. “I didn’t want to tell him I was available and it somehow get back to Janet. Then she’d think I was cheating on you, and probably try even harder to set you up with her granddaughter.”

Fitz hummed thoughtfully at her explanation. It wasn’t what he had hoped for--that she simply enjoyed the ruse of being his girlfriend--but it was better than nothing. Accepting it, he took a sip of his daiquiri. It was cold and very sweet, and he could barely taste the rum. It was a dangerous concoction.

Deciding to go along with Jemma’s rationale, he said, “Well… in the interest of it not getting back to Janet… we should definitely keep up the game.” Feeling bold, he shifted closer to her on the bench and stretched his arm out to rest it along the lip of the hot tub, around her shoulders. “How’s that? Is that alright?”

To his relief, Jemma smiled--the same brilliant smile he’d hoped for from her--and scooted even closer to him, so their thighs bumped against each other beneath the water. “It’s perfect,” she said, and clinked her daiquiri glass against his.

_ Perfect. _ Fitz felt elated, like he was flying. Jemma was cuddled up next to him in a hot tub, they had drinks, and she’d told an arguably more attractive man that he was her boyfriend. Was this what winning felt like?

But what was he winning?

Jemma was his best friend. His roommate. His colleague. He’d never felt this way about her before. Sure, he’d get cranky if other scientists came in the lab and tried to monopolize her time, but that wasn’t the same thing, was it? He just wanted her to be able to focus on her work, the work they did together. These feelings were… different. Surely a best friend wouldn’t admire Jemma in her bikini the way he had, or put so much stock in how she’d rubbed sun cream into his back. A best friend wouldn’t get jealous over seeing her talk to another man. A best friend wouldn’t take so much secret delight in being her fake boyfriend.

What did all of this mean?

Did he _ like _ her?

Looking at Jemma nestled in the crook of his arm, happily sipping her drink, Fitz felt his heart do a little flip. He was happy, being with her like this. It was like their usual relationship, plus a little extra: things he’d never thought to do with his best friend before, but now that he was, he couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t done them sooner.

Oh no.

It was more than a simple crush. Jemma was his entire world. She was the first person he saw in the morning and the last before he went to sleep. They did everything together. She’d been by his side ever since they were both sixteen years old. While he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d fallen in love with her.

And now he was her fake boyfriend. Fitz took a large gulp of his daiquiri. He was in deep shit.

-:- 

Jemma hummed quietly to herself as she stacked the empty plates in the middle of the table. They’d long since come back to their suite from the pool deck, changed into their pajamas, and ordered in some late-night snacks since they’d had such an early dinner. Splitting a large order of nachos had been fun--with the telly on, it had felt like a late night in the living room at their apartment--but Fitz was acting a little strange.

She eyed him as he shut the door to the minifridge and turned to go into the bedroom. It wasn’t a bad strange; he just seemed a little jumpy, acutely tuned to whatever she was saying or doing and reacting accordingly. He was almost _ shy_. Maybe mentioning Janet had raised his hackles, and he was laying the boyfriend routine on thick in a slightly awkward way. In that case, she would have to be the model of a satisfied, happy girlfriend in the morning if Janet came by, in order to reassure him that the older woman wouldn’t set her sights on him again.

His arm around her had been nice, though. It had felt relaxed and natural when Fitz wasn’t too aware of himself, and it had been very pleasant to relax in the hot tub and sip their drinks, talking about anything that came to mind. Certainly it was better than any time she’d spent with her previous boyfriends. But that was because Fitz was her best friend and they hadn’t run out of things to talk about yet. She didn’t think they ever would.

Once their dishes were sorted for Harry to take care of in the morning, Jemma went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. Fitz was already there, and he grinned at her through a mouth of foam around his toothbrush when she entered. She just rolled her eyes at him fondly and bumped her elbow against his as she picked up her own toothbrush.

When they climbed into bed for the night, Jemma wondered if Fitz might snuggle up to her the way he had the night before, and was half-disappointed when he didn’t. He’d been drunk, she reasoned. He’d never been particularly cuddly before. Still, it was something she thought about as she drifted off to sleep: the feeling of his arms around her, how unexpectedly nice it had felt, and how she now felt a little empty and alone for being without him.


	9. Santorini

When the alarm went off in the morning, Jemma was mildly surprised to find herself burrowed against something very warm. A second later, she was jolted to full wakefulness as that something jerked away from her with a yelp.

“Oh--shite, I’m, um, I’m--” Fitz was pushed up on one elbow, raking a hand through his unruly curls and looking at her like she might bite him, even as he blinked away the sleep in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Jemma rolled away to turn off the alarm, putting a little bit of distance between them as she did. “It’s alright, Fitz,” she sighed, turning back to face him. “It was me, not you.”

Evidently she’d cuddled up to him in the middle of the night, pressing herself against his back, and neither of them had minded in their sleep. Except Fitz minded _ now_, and a tiny bit of hurt--or was it just disappointment?--lodged itself in her chest.

“Really, it’s fine,” she said when he didn’t look convinced, still tense and ready to bolt. “I just--maybe I just got cold, and you’re very warm, so… it was natural.” It was the best, most casual explanation she could come up with that didn’t involve her telling him she’d just missed his arms around her. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” Fitz said in a rush, finally relaxing. “You’re fine.” He waved a hand before rubbing it across his eyes. “Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“So we’re fine,” Jemma said slowly, her eyes drinking in the way his plain cotton tee was rumpled across his chest, how his hair stuck up where he’d run his hand through it and the way the day-old stubble dusting his cheeks turned his jawline just a touch sharper.

He nodded and gave her a small smile. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

She blinked, and the haze in her sleep-fogged brain that had made him look exceedingly attractive dissipated. “Fine,” she replied, smiling back at him, and slid out of bed to head for the bathroom.

-:-

The ship didn’t make port until just after lunch, so they spent their morning being lazy, eating a long breakfast at the buffet and taking their time getting ready for the day. When it was finally time to disembark, they took a small tender from the ship to the old port on the island of Santorini, and from there an even smaller ferry back out to Nea Kameni, the volcanic island park in the middle of the lagoon.

“I knew you’d pick the volcano,” Fitz said as they stepped off the boat and onto the dark, pebbly surface of the beach. “As soon as you mentioned it when you were listing excursions, I _ knew _ you’d go for the volcano.”

“Why do you sound surprised?” Jemma asked, looking back at him. “This is an opportunity to witness science! Besides, I missed out on my first opportunity to see a volcano--I’m not losing my second.” To underscore her point, she reached out to take his hand and pull him along behind her, which had the bonus effect of making them look like a sightseeing couple. Janet was in their tour group today, and she figured it was never too early to start indulging in her role of adoring girlfriend.

She was pleased when Fitz tightened his hand around hers, skipping a step to catch up and walk alongside her. “I’m not surprised,” he said, looking up at the rocky, winding path ahead of them. “You’re just predictable.” He laughed when she used their joined hands to jab him in the side, then added, “I’m just saying, when given the opportunity to observe nature up close, I know you’ll take that over shopping and plate smashing any day.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with plate smashing,” Jemma asserted with a smile. “It’s culture. But you’re right, I’d much rather hike a volcano.”

Their trip up to the low summit of the island was more strenuous than they had anticipated, and by the time they reached the top they were both panting and sweaty. Jemma let Fitz take a swig from the bottle of water she’d brought with her in her crossbody bag, and looked out across the landscape in front of their gathered group.

“It kind of looks like the surface of the moon,” Fitz observed, one hand on his hip as he passed her the water bottle back. “At least, what I imagine it might look like.”

“It does look a little alien, doesn’t it?” Jemma took in all of the black volcanic rock that made up most of the hillsides and down into the caldera, which was scattered here and there with white pumice and other assorted rocks that were redder in hue. There was almost no vegetation, save for a very thin layer of short green grass that coated the hills in small patches. In short, it looked very bleak, but to her it was fascinating. Even if it was showing no signs of life at the moment, they were still standing on top of an active volcano.

“Yeah, it’s just a bunch of rocks.” Fitz plucked at his t-shirt, trying to air himself out. “Not much to see, is there? A little disappointing, really. I thought a volcano would be more, well…”

“Active?” Jemma supplied, and rolled her eyes. “While I admit that it would be amazing to see an actual live volcano in the process of erupting, I would never take you to see one. You’d be afraid to get too close and I’d have to leave you behind.”

Fitz’s jaw dropped. “Hey!” he squawked. “I’m--I would not be afraid!”

“Yes, you would,” Jemma replied patiently. “You spook whenever I mix explosive chemicals in the lab.”

Fitz looked like he wanted to protest, but in the end he just crossed his arms and ducked his head. “Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?” he muttered, sulking. 

That got a genuine laugh out of her, and the reminder that they were supposed to be a happy couple--that Janet was nearby--led her to wrap her hands around his arm and lean her head against his shoulder. “I only tease because I care,” she said, and she meant it. 

Fitz grumbled something under his breath, shifting his weight slightly on his feet.

“No, really, I do,” Jemma insisted. “I know that something as volatile as an actual erupting volcano would make you nervous, so if, for instance, we’d gone somewhere like Hawaii and had the option of seeing one, I probably wouldn’t have booked the excursion. At the very least I would have made sure it kept us at a safe distance.”

His shoulders relaxed and he looked at her, and the sudden softness in his eyes made her heart do an unexpected flip. “You’re right,” he admitted, and his voice was soft, too. “I probably would have been a bit nervous.” He looked back out across the rock landscape in front of them. “This is just fine.”

Jemma squeezed her hands around his arm and smiled, then turned her attention to their group’s guide, who was explaining the history of the volcano and the cataclysmic eruption that had destroyed most of the island during the Minoan era, providing a basis for the myth of Atlantis. She looked out across the lagoon toward the main island where the trademark whitewashed buildings of Santorini hugged the cliffside. It was hard to fathom that all of it--the island where they were now standing, the lagoon, the island farther away--had once been one larger landmass, blown apart by an eruption of unimaginable magnitude. The blast surely must have been felt hundreds of miles away.

“Is there any water left?” Fitz asked, quietly so as not to distract from the guide’s speech. “I feel like I’m melting.”

Jemma pulled her water bottle from her bag and silently handed it to him with an eyeroll. It was certainly warm out, but it wasn’t_ that _ hot.

The walk back down to the dock seemed to go a lot faster than the hike up had, and Jemma pointed out interesting rock formations she had missed along the way. Once they were back on the boat, Fitz put his arm around her and tucked her into his side, much to her delight. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at being so close to him, and it certainly didn’t hurt when Janet waved at them from across the deck. She looked up at Fitz as he waved back, and the relaxed smile on his own face made her heart glow. That was a genuine smile, not one put on for show. He was happy to be with her, and that knowledge made her feel giddy in ways she couldn’t explain.

Back on the main island, Jemma refilled her water bottle at the public toilet water fountain before their tour group boarded a bus to take them to their next destination: Akrotiri, the excavated remains of a Bronze Age settlement that had been buried in volcanic ash during the eruption which had destroyed the island. 

“Are we getting to play Indiana Jones again?” Fitz asked as the bus bounced along one of the narrow roads that traversed the island.

“A bit, I suppose,” Jemma replied. She was leaning against his side again, playing with his hand in her lap; Janet was right across the aisle from them, and even though she was engrossed in her phone, Jemma wasn’t passing up the opportunity to be physically close to Fitz. Not when she was coming to enjoy it so much. “I expect it will be similar to Pompeii in some ways, but hopefully different enough that we’ll still get something out of it.”

“Ah.” Fitz nodded in understanding. “So this is just basically a redux of Naples.” When she looked up at him with a frown, he grinned and said, “You’d planned a volcano hike there, too, and now we’re going to see some old ruins, just like we did there. What happened to variety, Jemma?”

She knew he was just teasing her, but Jemma still pulled a face and thumped the back of his hand with hers. “_Ugh_. You can’t honestly tell me you’d rather be dancing and smashing plates right now.”

Grinning wider, Fitz replied, “At least there’d be food.”

She thumped his hand again. “You’re so predictable.”

“You like it,” he shot back.

Jemma bit her lip to try and hide a smile. She did. She really, really did.

-:-

When they arrived at Akrotiri, they were surprised to find that the entire excavation site was covered by a complex wooden roofing system, ostensibly to protect it from the elements. Their guide explained to the assembled group that the site had only just recently reopened to the public after a long time spent closed for repairs, and as such they were all very fortunate to be able to visit and see the ruins.

“See?” Jemma said as they descended the path down into the digsite. “It’s special. Variety!”

Beneath the shade of the wooden roofs the summer air was much cooler, even pleasant, and she noticed Fitz perk up as he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. The ruins did remind her a lot of Pompeii in a way, with partial walls and doorways crumbling into bare outlines of the city layout, though she had to remind herself that these structures were far older--and therefore the remarkable state of their preservation was even more impressive. There were even colorful frescoes still visible on some of the remaining walls, and it was fascinating for Jemma to compare the art styles between those and the frescoes they had seen at Pompeii. She snapped several pictures on her phone, eager to compare them later when she had time.

“At least this doesn’t show people having rampant sex,” Fitz commented, gesturing to the fresco in front of them, which appeared to depict the bustling city at its height.

Jemma sighed. She knew he was referring to the fresco at Pompeii that had embarrassed him so much, but she wished he’d be a little more mature about it. “It’s just art, Fitz,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. “Art I don’t understand. It’s like… like… having a centerfold hung up in your living room. What kind of person does that?”

Jemma rolled her eyes as they turned to move along the pathway to the next set of ruins. “Do I need to promise to never buy a print of that fresco for our apartment?”

“Actually, yeah,” Fitz said with complete seriousness. “You sounded rather keen on it when we were there.”

She rolled her eyes again, even though he couldn’t see her. He could be so _ weird _ sometimes. “I promise not to buy any erotic art for our apartment,” she deadpanned.

“Thank you,” he replied primly.

The excavation site was so extensive and engaging that they spent a good two hours there, and by the time their tour group loaded up the bus to leave, the sun was starting to sink low in the sky. Jemma’s stomach grumbled, and she knew that if she was hungry, Fitz was definitely feeling peckish. 

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” she asked as the bus drove back to Fira, the island’s main town. “Do you want to go back to the ship or try to find somewhere to eat in town?” 

Fitz gave her a look like she’d lost her marbles. “In town, of course,” he said. “It might all be tourist traps, but it’ll be better than being cooped up on the ship. Besides, I thought you’d want to try Greek food.”

“I do,” Jemma replied. “But I thought I’d keep our options open.”

“Yeah, let’s stay in town to eat.” He stretched a little in his seat. “It’ll give us a little more time to spend here since we got a late start in the day. And I read the views are supposed to be really nice at sunset.”

“Oh, did some advance reading, did you?” she teased him.

Fitz just smiled and looked out the window. “Maybe.”

Once the bus let the group off at the bus station in Fira, everyone scattered their separate ways, either to the ferry to the ship or to find a restaurant for dinner. Jemma was thrilled when Fitz took her hand in his as they walked down the street, even though Janet had headed off in a different direction and was no longer in sight. Maybe, she thought, he was enjoying the whole fake relationship thing as much as she was and didn’t mind indulging in it a little when they were off camera, so to speak.

That feeling only grew a few minutes later as they stood near the corner of a large church that faced a wide paved path running along the top of the caldera’s edge. Jemma was busy on her phone looking up nearby restaurant options while Fitz stood at her side, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other resting at the small of her back. It was a light, simple gesture, but one that felt astonishingly intimate in the waning light of day. It kept him close, close enough for her to feel his body heat through her clothing, and it sent tingles racing down her spine.

She glanced up at him as she scrolled through her phone; when he caught her looking he smiled at her, his expression almost shy, and shuffled an inch closer when she smiled in return, stroking his hand once up and down her back. She couldn’t even begin to name the emotion that welled up within her, but she knew she wanted more of it--more of this, whatever it was.

“Alright, I think I’ve found the perfect place,” she said eventually, holding up her phone so Fitz could see it. “Just a short walk away, varied menu with reasonable prices, and they have outdoor seating.” She grinned at him. “So we can watch the sunset.”

Fitz smiled back and rubbed his thumb over her spine before letting his hand drop. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

It really was a short walk--just a hop and a skip down a short stairway and path from the church--and within short order they were being shown to a table on the restaurant’s rooftop terrace. Jemma was absolutely enchanted; from their viewpoint they could see the entire town of Fira stretched out along the caldera, hugging the cliffside, and the whitewashed walls of the buildings set against the backdrop of the setting sun and the sea looked postcard-perfect. She couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place to eat dinner. It was, dare she think it, almost romantic.

Maybe it was their good moods or the fact they were charging everything to a card Pepper Potts had set up for them, but in unspoken agreement Fitz and Jemma both decided to splurge a little on dinner. They started with a plate of pita bread cut into wedges served with _ tzatziki _ and feta cheese and exclaimed over how tasty both were, for being so simple. Then Fitz was brought out a dish called _ soutzoukakia _ for his main meal, which was stewed meatballs in a rich tomato sauce served with mashed potatoes. Jemma chose baked lamb in lemon sauce, which was so tender it fell apart on her fork, along with a side of rice. Fitz even convinced her to order dessert when they were done, indulging in some _ baklava _ for each of them.

“You know,” Fitz said, setting his fork down with a satisfied sigh and leaning back in his seat, “I don’t think it gets much better than this.”

Jemma, who was full of good conversation and wine and feeling far too affectionate towards her roommate, rested her chin in her palm and smiled at him. “What’s that?”

“_This_.” He swept a hand out to encompass their table, her, and the island beyond. “Good food, my best friend, and what some people would consider one of the best views in the world. I’m spoiled. I could get used to living like this.”

Pleased to see that he was enjoying himself, Jemma beamed at him. “Be careful,” she teased, laughing. “You sound like you’re actually starting to have fun.”

Fitz rolled his eyes, which only made her laugh more, but then his face lit up and he said, “Jemma--don’t move. Stay just like that for a minute.” 

She laughed again, helplessly confused as she watched him pull his phone from his pocket. “Stay like what? What are you doing?”

“Just--” He held a finger up, followed by his phone. “You look really nice like this. I want to take a picture.”

“Oh, _ Fitz_.” Jemma felt her cheeks warm as a blush colored them, but it did nothing to dim her smile, wide and bright and purely happy. “You old softie.”

“Don’t tease me, I’ll lose my good mood.” But Fitz was smiling as he tapped at the screen of his phone, and when he lowered it he looked happy with how the photo had turned out.

Turning her smile up a notch, Jemma asked, “Can I persuade you to take a picture with me?”

Fitz made a show of grumbling, but it was very weak and he was still smiling. “Oh, alright,” he said, scooting his chair around. “If you insist.”

Jemma directed them to angle themselves so they were lit by the fairy lights strung along the pergola above them, with the last dying rays of the brilliant sunset behind them. Fitz put an arm around her shoulders and pulled himself in close, and Jemma’s heart pulsed warmly when he properly smiled. Studying the photo for a brief second once it was taken, she knew it was going to be one of her favorites. They looked so happy together, just as two best friends on the trip of a lifetime should--or more than that, if she could allow herself to think it.

They lingered for a little while over extra glasses of wine and the conversation that never stopped flowing between them, and by the time they finally left the restaurant, they were pushing the ship’s late curfew.

“Can’t we just walk down to the docks?” Fitz asked, when Jemma informed him of her wish for them to take the cable car down. “I mean, we have some time, and it’s all downhill. And I won’t have to be… up high…” He looked off into the distance in the direction of the cable car terminal a bit nervously.

“We _ could_,” Jemma replied, tilting her head. “But I rather thought it might be nice to avoid all of the donkey droppings on the road.”

Fitz blinked. “Come again?”

She laughed. “The road from here down to the port is literally covered in animal waste from the trips the donkeys make back and forth carrying people. The stench is supposed to be awful. I read about it when I was searching through travel guides to the island. The cable car comes highly recommended.”

Fitz sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cable car it is,” he mumbled. “Just--I’ll--maybe I’ll keep my eyes shut the whole way down.”

Feeling a stab of pity for him--she knew heights really did bother him--Jemma stepped forward to take his hand between hers and gave it a squeeze. “It’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time.”

He gave her a small, hesitant smile, then let himself be tugged along when she pulled on his hand, leading him down the street.

They took their time walking, admiring the nighttime view of the sea and how the lights illuminated the whitewashed walls of the town’s buildings. When they reached the cable car terminal, Jemma paid the small fee to ride and coaxed Fitz on after her.

“Oh, I do not like this at all,” Fitz murmured, his gaze cast toward the edge of the cliff and the cable car rail’s path down to the sea. Jemma thought the view was spectacular, but could appreciate how it was frightening to someone like Fitz. Wanting to reassure him again, she stepped in close and, after only a slight hesitation, slipped her arm around his waist.

“It’ll be fine,” she told him again. “It’s not a long ride at all. I’m right here.”

Fitz wound his arm around her shoulders in turn and held on tight. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Jemma.”

As the cable car lurched into motion and Fitz made a distressed noise, clinging tighter to her, Jemma mused on the fact that before this holiday, he would have simply stood apart from her with his arms crossed and his eyes squeezed shut, determined to soldier through it on his own. Now she was willingly offering him comfort, and he was taking it. Boundaries were breaking down between them, things were shifting. But while it was thrilling, she didn’t want to think too much about it. Because thinking on and examining it would force her to put a name to it, and Jemma was afraid that if she acknowledged what she felt was changing in _ her _heart, and it turned out that Fitz didn’t feel the same, it would ruin everything. She could destroy the most important relationship in her life. Why risk it when she didn’t have a solid data set yet?

Things were changing between them due to their fake relationship charade, but for the moment Jemma was content to just go with the flow and enjoy the chance to be closer to Fitz than she ever had before. It seemed appropriate for a dream cruise holiday, to test out the fantasy of being with her best friend. And when the charade inevitably came to an end along with their trip… well, she would deal with that when it came to it.


	10. Athens, Part 1

Fitz almost jumped out of his skin when he woke up a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off. It seemed Jemma had found her way into his arms again--sort of. She was curled up against his side, her face pressed into his shoulder, and her hand was resting on his chest. He could feel her breath puffing through his shirt sleeve. It was a sight more intimate than how they’d awoken the previous morning, and he came very close to yelping, feeling that it was all somehow his fault and he was encroaching upon her space, despite her being the one snuggled up to him.

As it was, his involuntary flinch was enough to wake her, and Jemma blinked sleepily before seeming to realize where she was. Then she looked up at him. Their eyes met and they both froze, an extended moment spinning out between them where Fitz desperately wondered what she was thinking, if she wanted to be this close to him, if her hesitation in moving away meant she _ did_, if he should be feeling guilty for enjoying her warmth--and then she smiled. A small, hesitant, shy smile, but one that made him feel like the sun had just burst out from behind a raincloud. Without thinking, he smiled back.

She instantly relaxed against him. “Good morning,” she said softly, and Fitz’s heart did a flip in his chest to hear her sound so content. Was this what it could be like, waking up every morning with her? Well--he’d probably have his arm around her rather than pinned against his side, but he didn’t care about that in the slightest. Having Jemma this close, all sleep-warm and smiling, made him feel like he was floating on a cloud.

“Morning,” he replied, thankful that the hoarseness of his voice could be attributed to the fact he’d just woken up.

She flexed her fingers slightly over the cotton of his t-shirt, sending a tingle racing down his spine, and her smile widened. “I’m surprised you’re awake. You’re usually never up this early without the alarm.”

He shrugged lightly, taking care not to dislodge her, and looked up at the ceiling briefly before rolling his head back to face her. “I--well, miracles do happen occasionally.”

Jemma laughed, the thrum of it reverberating into his arm, and it made his own smile widen in return. “Miracles indeed,” she said, and his heart pitter-pattered again. “Do you want the first shower, or can I go ahead?”

Fitz shook his head. “I’m fine, you go ahead. I can use the other loo. I know it’ll take you longer to--” He waved his free hand. “Do all of your girly stuff with your hair and face and all.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and pushed at his arm, but there was very little heat behind it. “You can be such a _ man _ sometimes,” she said with a smile, and rolled away from him to sit up and swing her legs over her side of the bed. He immediately missed her warmth. “Be thinking about what you might like to do for breakfast today. I’ll try not to take too long.”

He watched her get up and go around the bed to the bathroom; a small smile came his way before she disappeared through the door and shut it. Then he relaxed back into the pillow and sighed, staring up at the ceiling again. There really was no denying what he’d come to realize last night, even more clear given how he’d felt waking up next to her: he had it _ bad_.

-:-

As they sped along the narrow, crowded streets of Athens’ outer suburbs in their private car, Fitz could tell that Jemma wasn’t all that impressed by their surroundings. He couldn’t blame her; many of the buildings they passed were drab gray concrete, old and run-down, and liberally sprinkled with graffiti. She was still looking intently out the window, taking everything in the way she did when she wanted to learn, but it was obvious that she wasn’t as dazzled as she’d been by some of the other cities they’d visited.

Maybe she’d perk up a bit once they reached their destination. “So what are we doing first?” he asked, more to get her talking than out of any real curiosity. They’d already gone over their plans for the day over dinner the night before.

“The Acropolis,” Jemma replied, turning away from the car window to face him. “Which I know you’ve been looking forward to.” He nodded. “I think it will be so much fun to explore, I’m sure we’ll enjoy it. Then we’ll have some time to look around the area on our own before we drive out to see the Temple of Poseidon.”

“Lots of temples today, then,” Fitz noted.

Jemma smiled at him. “Lots of temples. Lots of _ culture_. These buildings are incredibly old, older even than Pompeii, I think. I can’t wait to see them.”

There was that smile, the sparkle in her eye that meant she was warming up to a topic, that expression he loved. Fitz wondered how he’d managed to go so many years of his life without it making him positively melt. Smiling back at her and feeling incredibly soft, he said, “We’ll get there soon enough. It wasn’t supposed to be that long of a drive.”

Sure enough, the buildings around them soon turned more residential, and it became obvious that they were driving around the perimeter of a very large hilly area. Eventually their driver dropped them off next to a car park, promising to pick them up later at their pre-arranged spot. Then Fitz and Jemma both stretched and looked around to get their bearings.

“I think we go through here,” Jemma said, pointing across the street to a paved path that cut through a small, forested park. “And then the Acropolis will be up the hill on the other side.”

Adjusting the strap of her bag across her shoulder and chest, she set off across the street, Fitz following dutifully behind. Once they joined the main flow of tourists, it wasn’t difficult to determine where to go. After a climb up another stone-paved path that rose on a steady incline, they found themselves at the main ticket booth for the Acropolis, located at the base of the hill.

“It’s a good thing we’ve already got tickets to go in,” Jemma said, eyeing the long line at the booth. Then she looked at the small canteen located next door. “Though we might want to get some water before we go up. It _ is _ rather warm again today.”

“Yeah,” Fitz huffed, hands on his hips as he squinted up toward the hill. “That hike took more out of me than I thought it would. This is going to be like Rome again, isn’t it? So much walking. My feet are going to fall off.”

Jemma may have been wearing sunglasses concealing her eyes, but he still knew that she was rolling them just from the way she tilted her head at him and twisted her mouth. “It won’t be _ that _ bad,” she told him. “But if your feet do get sore, we’ve still got that muscle cream, and I can always give you another foot rub if you like.”

Fitz’s vision went briefly unfocused at the mention of a foot rub. Would he even be able to survive one now? Surely not, not without giving himself away. But damned if he didn’t want her to. The first one had felt _ way _ too nice and he wasn’t too proud to refuse if she offered it to him. 

“I’ll consider it,” he said, attempting to sound overly brave in order to mask his true feelings. It must have worked, because Jemma laughed lightly, then reached out to take his hand.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him in the direction of the canteen. “Let’s get something to drink before we go up.”

Two overpriced bottles of water later they were back on the stone path and going through the gate that would take them to the Acropolis. They could see stone columns and crumbling facades rising over the treeline ahead of them, and Fitz’s pulse ticked up a notch with anticipation. The inner child in him, the one who’d had the classical mythology phase, was very excited to see the Parthenon and everything else that lay beyond.

The path they were on turned into winding steps, and soon they approached an ancient-looking stone wall with a simple square archway built into it. As they passed through, they came upon another set of stairs that climbed a steep hill up to the main entrance to the Acropolis. Up ahead of them were rows of pockmarked columns, though the roof they’d supported was long gone, and walls in surprisingly good shape flanked either side of the columns, suggesting there had once been a temple there. Tourists crowded the steps--some entering or leaving, others standing around and talking, resting, or taking pictures.

“This is called the Propylaea,” Jemma said, consulting a pamphlet she’d grabbed from the ticket booth. “It says it was built around 432 B.C. and was commissioned by Pericles in order to replace what had been destroyed during the Persian Wars.” She looked up from the pamphlet to stare at the marble edifice. “This is already so old… can you imagine something older than this still standing here? I wonder what it would have looked like. Or if it would have stood the test of time the way this has.”

Fitz smiled at her as she talked. Jemma always seemed to glow from within when she discussed a subject she was passionate about, or when she was learning something new, like she was now. Again, he wondered how he had never noticed--or rather, that he _ had _ noticed, but never fully appreciated how beautiful it made her look. She was radiant. How was he not completely useless around her? How had he managed to get so far in his life not bent prostrate on the ground in total worship of her? He’d always known on some level that Jemma was his entire world, but now… now he understood just how deep that devotion ran.

“Hard to say,” he said, taking in the way Jemma was studying both the pamphlet and the Propylaea instead of looking at the view in front of him. “I suppose it would depend on how old the buildings that were there before were.”

“You’re probably right.” Jemma adjusted her sunglasses on her nose, then smiled at him. His heart jumped. “Right, let’s go on through to the main attraction, then.”

They made their way up the steps, pausing to take a picture of the tiny building sitting atop a rampart that the pamphlet told them was the Temple of Athena Nike, before continuing up to the Propylaea itself. Fitz couldn’t deny a bit of awe as they walked between the tall marble columns, observing how they’d been scarred by time but were still very much standing. It was easy to imagine how it all must have looked brand-new, smooth and gleaming in the sun.

Then they were through and the walls opened up onto the wide, flattened-out hilltop that was the main part of the Acropolis, and there it was: the Parthenon.

“Bloody hell,” Fitz murmured as he and Jemma followed the flow of tourists along the cordoned rocky path. “You see it in photos and everything and of course you know what it looks like, but then it’s right in front of you and you can’t believe it’s actually real. Look at it. It’s _ right there_.”

Jemma chuckled quietly as she held up her phone to snap a quick picture as they walked. “I can sympathize,” she said. “But is it just me or does it look… smaller than you expected? Not saying it’s _ small_, just that I thought it would be--bigger.”

He shook his head. “No, I think it looks just right. Very stately.”

“Stately.” Jemma laughed again. “That’s a word I’d use for an English manor home. I think this is more… imposing.”

It was Fitz’s turn to laugh. “_Imposing_? It’s not Dracula’s castle, Jemma.”

She swatted at him with her pamphlet, trying and failing to stifle yet another laugh. “Can you come up with anything better, then?” she demanded, grinning. 

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if it’s not stately or imposing… maybe I’ll have to go with regal. No, majestic. Definitely majestic. I like that better.” 

Jemma hummed. “Alright, I’ll accept it,” she said. “Majestic works. It certainly is beautiful.”

As they neared the Parthenon, they stopped to read the information placards set in place around it. They learned that it was just a little older than the Propylaea, and were astounded to discover that it had actually been in good, mostly-intact condition until an explosion severely damaged it in 1687. The occupying Ottomans had been using it as an ammunition dump, and the cache had been lit by a Venetian bombardment during the Great Turkish War. 

“Ugh,” Fitz grumbled, taking a step back and looking up at what remained of the Pantheon’s columns and pediment. “It made it so far. Can you imagine if it hadn’t exploded? What it would look like? With the roof and all of the columns… truly an engineering marvel of its time.”

“It is a shame,” Jemma agreed, taking a sip from her water bottle. “The brochure says there was so much statuary and art looted. Some of it was taken to museums, but most of it was lost.”

Fitz sighed. “Figures.”

They ambled slowly around the Parthenon’s perimeter, talking about interesting bits of architecture they saw or information Jemma gleaned from her pamphlet, and when they came around the side that bordered the edge of the Acropolis, they stopped to admire the view for a moment.

“Such a beautiful view of the city,” Jemma said, resting her hands on the stone wall that lined the lip of the hill. “You can even see all the way to the sea over there in the distance.” She pointed. “See?”

Fitz, who was standing a good three steps behind her so he didn’t have to see the drop over the edge of the hill, nodded. “It’s nice.” Raising his phone, he snuck a picture of her from behind, her back to him with the sun on her hair and the city panorama spread out below her. _ But not as nice as you_.

She turned just as he was lowering his phone and smiled at him. “Come take a selfie with me? One selfie for each place we visit, remember?”

It was something they were trying to do, but he winced. “Eh,” he hedged, not wanting her to know how skittish heights made him, but knowing she already did anyway. “Maybe somewhere else? That’s a little… um, close to the edge, and that wall isn’t very high.” Feeling his cheeks burn a bit, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the Parthenon. “I’d rather get this in the background anyway.”

Thankfully, Jemma chose not to tease him. Her smile just widened before she said, “Alright, come on then,” and gestured for him to follow her back around to the front of the structure.

Once they had their selfie secured, they wandered over to visit the other remaining structure atop the Acropolis, which a placard told them was called the Erechtheion. They read that it was built to honor the gods Athena and Poseidon, and had once been elaborately decorated--friezes of black limestone, elaborately carved windows and doorways, and columns that had been painted, gilded, and inlaid with glass beads. Jemma read aloud from her pamphlet, explaining how the temple had been associated with some of the most ancient and holy relics of the Athenian Empire. Then they went around the side of the structure to inspect the famous Porch of the Maidens, an offshoot of the main temple that used six sculptures of female figures as supporting columns. 

“It’s the birthplace of Western civilization, if you think about it,” Jemma said, as they ambled back in the direction of the Parthenon. “Not just the Acropolis, really, but Athens as a whole. It’s fascinating to be here and think that this is where it all began, that so much of modern society’s structure started here.”

Fitz made an agreeable noise. “It’s too bad we can’t hop over to Turkey while we’re here and see some Persian and Ottoman sites,” he said. “That would be interesting, too. All of the _ science_.” 

Jemma smiled at him, her expression as bright as the sun. “We’ll have to save that for another trip.”

That made his heart do a funny little dance--the thought that she wanted to go on more trips with him. But then, he _ was _ her best friend; who else would she go with? She’d made it plain she wasn’t interested in going on holiday with anyone else from the lab. Still, it pleased him to know that Jemma was even considering it, that she didn’t consider this cruise a one-off thing.

Having seen just about everything there was to see at the Acropolis and feeling rather hot and sweaty from being in the sun, Fitz and Jemma made their way back down the hill. They stopped by one of the site’s ancient outdoor theatres on the way, marveling at how the seating had been restored and how live performances were still held there, before heading back down to street level. Following Jemma’s GPS, they headed into a neighborhood at the base of the Acropolis that she told him was called the Plaka District--a pedestrianized area full of shops and cafés where they could wander around and perhaps buy some souvenirs and grab some lunch. 

Fitz was thrilled when Jemma took his hand as they walked. She’d looked to him as she did so, as if asking his permission or making sure it was okay; he’d simply smiled at her and squeezed her hand in return, feeling too nervous to actually say anything. Words might disrupt whatever she was feeling, whatever was happening between them. That was the last thing he wanted.

It was a pleasant way to spend their late morning, and he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do in the city. The narrow cobblestone streets of the district gave it almost a village-like feel, and Jemma held on tight to his hand as they strolled along, pointing out interesting things she saw in shop windows. Without Janet or anyone else from the ship around, it felt much less like they were putting on a show and more like they were an actual couple out exploring a new city together. Once again, Fitz wondered if this was what it would be like to really _ be _ with Jemma--easy, carefree, _ right_.

He knew he was setting himself up for a world of hurt, letting himself want her like this, but he couldn’t help it. The veil had been lifted and now all he could see was the prospect of him and Jemma,_ together_, and he couldn’t believe he’d never thought of it before. Though their current arrangement was just a ruse, he would take what scraps he could get. The lie was just too beautiful not to accept for the moment.

Even though he knew it would hurt like hell when it all came to an end.

He ended up buying a few refrigerator magnets in a shop full of chintzy souvenirs, some for his mum and some for them to use at home. Jemma found a pretty floral blouse in another shop that Fitz thought would look lovely on her. Then they came upon a charming little corner restaurant with sidewalk seating and decided to take a chance on it for lunch.

“It’s _ tzatziki _ sauce,” Jemma explained, pointing at the creamy white condiment that had been drizzled over the top of his grilled pork skewer, a dish the menu had called _ souvlaki_. “It’s the same thing we had with our pita bread yesterday. You liked it.”

Fitz gave his plate a wary look. He hadn’t minded the _ tzatziki _ sauce at all with the pita, though he couldn’t say he’d rave about it; but maybe it wouldn’t be bad on meat, either. He picked up the skewer and took a cautious bite. His tongue was instantly hit with the flavors of lemon, oregano, and other herbs and spices, along with the _ tzatziki_\--which actually mellowed the marinade on the pork out a little bit. He hummed agreeably and nodded as he chewed. “You’re right, it’s good,” he mumbled.

Jemma smiled smugly. “Knew you’d like it,” she said, digging her fork into her side of rice. She’d ordered the same thing he had. “One of these days I’ll get you to stop being such a picky eater.”

“Doubtful,” he replied, and took another bite of pork. If she hadn’t managed to fully break him of his hang-ups after nearly seven years of living together, he didn’t think she was going to start now.

Then again, now he knew he would do anything to make Jemma happy. Who knew what sort of foods she could convince him to try?

The grilled pork with sides of rice and fries had been a tasty if safe choice, though, and Fitz happily ate it all, feeling supremely content. That feeling only grew when they were leaving the restaurant and he spotted a little bakery on the next corner, and he convinced Jemma to go inside with only minimal cajoling.

“I know we had dessert last night,” he said, “which was very Greek. But it’s a nice day. Maybe they do milkshakes.”

The menu turned out to be wide ranging--it was a full-service deli in addition to being a bakery--and Jemma eventually settled on a cold coffee with a mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon, while Fitz went with the unusual choice of vanilla ice cream with corn flakes, drizzled with honey and chopped nuts. It probably wasn’t authentic Greek fare, but it would more than do.

“I have to admit, I’m intrigued,” Jemma remarked as they headed back outside, watching him mix his toppings into the ice cream a bit. “I wouldn’t have ever thought to put corn flakes on ice cream.”

“It’s brilliant,” Fitz replied, sticking a spoonful in his mouth. “The _ crunch_\--” This was said around a full mouth. “It’s so good. And the honey just takes it over the top, makes it really sweet.” He held the paper cup out to her. “Want to try some?”

She shook her head, grinning. “No, thank you. It’s probably far too sweet for my tastes, and I’ve got enough already with this.” She gestured with her tall cup. “I swear half of it is just whipped cream. So much sugar.”

“If you’re going to get me to stop being a picky eater,” he said, munching on another bite of ice cream and corn flakes, “then maybe one day I’ll get you to stop worrying about eating fantastic desserts. You’ve got to live a little, Jemma.”

“Doubtful.” She smiled sweetly at him and took a sip of her coffee. “Proper nutrition will always be my top priority.”

“Ice cream is a dairy,” Fitz mumbled, and the way Jemma laughed made his heart expand three entire sizes in his chest.

-:-

Jemma stared out the window of the car as they drove down the highway along the coast out of the city. The view of the sea was dazzling, but--even though she wasn’t looking at him--her attention was rather more focused on Fitz. It had been all day, ever since she’d woken up in his arms and he hadn’t shied away from her. It had been such a heart-stopping moment, opening her eyes to find him looking at her, all sleepy and soft, his face mere inches from hers. She’d had the instinct to bolt herself, and for a split second she’d thought they both would jump apart, but when he hadn’t moved, she’d seized the opportunity to make it a moment. And oh, what a moment it had been.

She still couldn’t explain why she was suddenly so attracted to Fitz like this, or why she wanted to lean into it, but it was all very real. They’d only been pretending to be together for a few days, but already it felt less like a ruse and more genuine, like a glimpse into what it could be like if she and Fitz were genuinely a couple. There was only one word for it: it was wonderful. 

Astonishingly, Fitz seemed just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as she was. But to what purpose? Was it just a fun game to play while they were away on holiday? Or did he harbor true feelings for her? Fitz had never really dated, nothing serious or long-term, and he’d never shown any interest in her before. She found the idea of him genuinely falling for her rather implausible; it seemed more likely that he was just enjoying the idea of having a girlfriend, and their arrangement was a good, safe, harmless outlet for it.

But did she _ want _him to fall for her?

It was something Jemma turned over in her mind as they left the city and the suburbs behind and their surroundings became more rural, the sea on one side and hills and little villages on the other. Wanting a romantic relationship with Fitz was a risky proposition, and the risk was something her mind had touched briefly on the night before. In her experience, romance never ended well. Either she ended up bored or she was deemed lacking somehow and her boyfriend du jour dumped her before she could dump him. She was still smarting from her most recent split with Milton. Did she really want to chance the same thing happening with Fitz, who was arguably the most important person in her life? Things were good with him as her best friend and roommate. Easy and comfortable. While the prospect of _ more _ with him was undeniably thrilling to her now, and thus the idea of Fitz falling for her a very attractive one, she just didn’t know if it was worth the chance of being rejected--something she was sure would muck everything up and make their relationship awkward to the point of being unbearable.

Maybe it would just be best to resolve herself to enjoying what they had right now in the moment, and stop worrying about the minutiae. The cruise would be over in a few days anyway, and they would go back home and everything would return to as it had been.

After a little over an hour of driving, their car turned off the highway onto a narrower road that wound down a small peninsula. At first they couldn’t see much beyond the low-lying hills and the scrub brush that covered the landscape, but then they rounded a bend and in the distance, they could see marble columns rising into the blue sky.

“That’s where we’re headed,” Jemma said to Fitz, pointing ahead through the windshield. “The Temple of Poseidon.”

“Big day for temples,” he reminded her with a smile. It was unfair, how handsome his smile could make him look. How had she never noticed before?

Soon enough, they pulled up to a squat red stone building that looked like it housed a small restaurant and gift shop. Their driver let them out, but not before letting them know he’d be in the car park around the side waiting for them when they were done. They thanked him, then took stock of where they needed to go.

It didn’t take them long to locate the entrance to the temple site; it was up the hill from the restaurant, along a narrow paved path. A gate in a plain chain-link fence led them to a tiny hut that housed the ticket booth where Fitz and Jemma bought their passes from a bored-looking young woman, along with picking up an information brochure. Jemma had taken to collecting them throughout their trip because she’d found most of them to be very useful and helpful about the sites they’d visited.

Then they followed the path the rest of the way up the hill to the temple, Fitz lagging slightly behind. Taking the site in, Jemma almost found it a disappointment, because there wasn’t much to see; there was very little left of the temple and the surrounding grounds aside from three walls of an outer row of columns. But the _ view_\--the view more than made up for it. The temple was situated right on the tip of the peninsula, and surrounding it were sweeping vistas of the sea and the surrounding coastline. It was enough to slow Jemma’s steps and make her take pause, completely in awe of the scenery around her. 

“Right, so this is the Temple of Poseidon,” she said, turning away from the view and going back to her self-appointed task of tour guide. Opening her brochure and scanning the information inside, she said, “It says here that it was constructed around the same time as the Parthenon, on the same site as another temple that once stood here. But it was destroyed by the Persians during the same invasion in which they razed everything atop the Acropolis. Hmm, the Persians were very busy.”

“Seems so,” Fitz said, his lips twitching up into a smile. 

Jemma smiled briefly back at him before looking back down at her brochure. “It’s also considered one of the major monuments of the Golden Age of Athens.”

“Really?” Fitz turned to look up at the columns in front of them, his expression turning skeptical. “There’s not much left to see. Just a few columns.”

“But look at the _ view_.” Jemma slipped her brochure into the front pocket of her bag and strolled around the side of the temple remains, heading for the cliff’s edge. “I think this is what makes it so special, at least in part. Look.” She swept her hand out to encompass it all--the sea, the coastline, the sky. “What a perfect place to build a temple to honor the god of the sea. It’s _ beautiful_.”

“Er. Yes,” Fitz mumbled. When she glanced back at him, he was standing a good four or five steps behind her, looking nervous. “Very beautiful. Could you maybe, ah, not stand so close to the edge?”

Jemma blinked. “Why? It’s alright, there’s a fence.” She pointed to the short wire barrier that ran along the cliff’s edge, which kept visitors from getting too close and falling. “I’m perfectly safe.”

Fitz winced, not looking reassured at all and distinctly green about the gills. “Yes, but… it’s a pretty steep drop and… we are very high up. I’d just feel a lot better if, um…” He took a tiny step forward, then stretched out to reach for her, as if he couldn’t bear to take another step closer. Grasping her hand, he carefully tugged her back toward him. Rather bemused--she knew this was just his fear of heights getting to him--Jemma let him, until he’d pulled her into him. Then she took one more step backward, ending with her back against his chest.

“There,” he said, one arm slowly coming around her waist like he wanted to hold her back from trying to go for the edge again; his other hand settled at her hip. Jemma suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. They weren’t even facing each other and the embrace felt more intimate than any other way they’d found themselves on this trip, but it was tentative, unsure--like perhaps Fitz was edging them both closer to the cliff now, but the fall was something different. Something more, something that made sparks of hope and excitement fizz in her veins.

Turning her head slightly toward him, she could see that Fitz’s gaze was fixed out toward the sea. But when he made no move to let go of her, she very cautiously relaxed into his hold, leaning back against his chest. After a pause, his other arm came around her and he locked his hands together over her stomach.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He might not have been looking at her, but Jemma could tell that they both knew this was a moment, and both of them were afraid to break the spell. Everything else fell away: the temple, the other visitors, everything; there was nothing left except the two of them standing on a windswept precipice above the sea. She could feel the rise and fall of Fitz’s chest against her back as he breathed, that and his arms around her hinting at the firm solidity of him, and the way it made her feel almost lightheaded with possibility had her reconsidering all of her earlier musings. Maybe he _ did _feel something for her. Maybe he did want something real and genuine, the way she was beginning to accept she did, because surely a man who was just playing at being a boyfriend wouldn’t hold her like this when no one of importance was around to see.

“The view _ is _ beautiful,” Fitz murmured at length. Jemma could feel the rumble of his voice against her back, close to her ear, and she wanted to close her eyes, all the better to soak it in. 

Instead, she nodded once. “Supposed to be one of the most stirring sights of classical Greece,” she said quietly. “At least, according to the brochure.”

Fitz made a low, agreeing noise, shifting his weight slightly and adjusting his hold on her as he did so. It sent a thrill racing through her: he didn’t want to let her go. Encouraged, she turned her face to look at him again and was brought up short by how close his own face was--close enough that her nose almost bumped against his chin. Fitz finally looked at her in return, and Jemma sucked in a silent breath. If they were already having a moment, this was the tipping point: poised on the edge, where the slightest push could send them in either direction. There was something quietly intense hiding in his eyes that she couldn’t name, or was too scared to; all she knew was that she wanted to fall into them, and hope that he would catch her.

Then his gaze dropped down to her mouth, and her heart did a somersault.

Without a word, Fitz leaned in and brushed the lightest, sweetest kiss against her lips. It might have been soft and careful, but to Jemma it felt like stars burst at the contact, her entire body lighting up with delight. Just as he started to pull away, she pressed in to capture his mouth in an even fuller, firmer kiss, determined to truly get the full experience just in case this was her only chance. Her knees legitimately grew weak when Fitz returned the kiss in equal measure, his arms tightening around her waist.

Why had they waited so long to do this? How had she gone nearly eight years of her life without kissing Fitz? If she had known it would be like this--exciting, thrilling, heart-pounding, like waking up after a lifetime asleep--she would have done it ages ago.

When they finally broke apart Fitz leaned back just enough to look at her, and his expression was breathless, almost shocked. She was sure she looked just the same. They stared at each other for an extended moment, unsure what to say, afraid even. They’d just _ kissed _each other, and it hadn’t been for appearances--it was a line they couldn’t easily come back from. What now?

Jemma knew what she wanted. A small smile spread over her face, growing in certainty and size as the rightness of it settled in her bones. Things were definitely changing between them for the better, and it looked like she could have Fitz for keeps.

Seeing her smile, the doubt on Fitz’s face vanished and he smiled back. The way it lit up his face was breathtaking, and Jemma squeezed her hands over his arms around her as he leaned back in to press his forehead to hers. They stayed that way for a long moment, an unspoken conversation the likes of which they were famous for passing between them, and their smiles were incandescent. Yes, things had changed. It wasn’t just pretending. Whatever this was, they were in it together.

Finally, Fitz loosened his arms and let go of her, but took one of her hands as he stepped back. Their moment was over, but a whole new world of possibilities had opened up in front of them, and it left Jemma feeling positively effervescent.

“Come on,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her back toward the temple. “Let’s go have a look at those pillars.”

Jemma willingly followed him, eager to see what would come next.


	11. Athens, Part 2

The ride back to port in Piraeus was mostly quiet, but not awkward. Or perhaps it was, but in the best possible way. Jemma kept shooting Fitz looks across the back seat of the car, only to find that he was already looking back at her. Then they would both break into somewhat shy smiles and glance away before turning to each other again, the space between them thrumming with possibility, until one of them brought up something they’d seen that day to talk about.

Jemma couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. It was hard to believe it had actually happened. How much more romantic and fanciful could it have possibly been? A gentle, sweet kiss on the storied cliffs of southern Greece. Fitz had all but swept her off her feet. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect kiss.

Oh, how she wanted to kiss him again. She was pretty sure Fitz was thinking the same thing, if the faint blush tinting his cheeks whenever he smiled at her was any indication. The notion made her feel giddy. He wanted to kiss her! Fitz, her best friend, who knew her better than anyone--her likes, dislikes, odd quirks, every little bit that made up who she was. How had it never occurred to her how perfect they would be together? Well, that was not quite true; she knew how well they meshed in every other aspect of their lives. But as a boyfriend… it felt like a crime, that she had never considered it. She couldn’t even _ remember _ why, now. The firm press of his lips against hers had obliterated all the reasons and excuses she’d given herself to never consider Fitz as a romantic partner. Why had she wasted time with other men when he was right there?

Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore--at least, she hoped. Fitz was smiling at her again as their car pulled into the port terminal’s arrivals lane, and she was bemused to find herself blushing in return. Really! Blushing at Fitz! She’d never played at being shy and reticent with any of the other men she’d dated, but apparently this new thing they were stepping into brought it out in her. 

They thanked their driver as he let them out in front of the terminal’s main building, and when Fitz came around the back of the car to join her, he immediately reached for her hand, threading their fingers together and giving them a soft squeeze. When she looked up at him, he gave her another smile, this one questioning. He wanted to know if she was alright with him holding her hand.

She gave him a wide, happy smile in reply and squeezed back. Fitz’s face lit up, and he followed along easily when she turned to lead him into the terminal.

They found Janet amongst the crowd lined up to board the ship. “Hello again, you two!” she called. “How did you enjoy Athens?”

“Oh, we had a wonderful day,” Jemma replied brightly, feeling like she was giving the understatement of the century. She turned to Fitz. “Didn’t we?”

“Definitely,” Fitz said with feeling, his gaze focused on her. The look in his eyes made her feel warm beneath her skin, and she was forced to turn back to Janet.

If the other woman noticed that a shift had occurred between them, she didn’t show it. “That’s great!” she enthused. “What all did you see?”

“We went to the Acropolis this morning,” Jemma replied, running over the events of the day in her mind.

“The Parthenon was amazing,” Fitz cut in, giving her hand another squeeze.

She smiled up at him. “Yes, it was. Then we had lunch in the Plaka district, and after that we drove out to Cape Sounion to see the Temple of Poseidon.” 

Fitz’s presence beside her was practically burning as she mentioned the place where they’d kissed, and it took all of her willpower not to look at him again. Instead, she kept her eyes facing forward.

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Janet said. “I did sort of the opposite of you. I visited some museums in the city this morning, then went to the Acropolis after lunch. I just came from there. You’re right, Fitz, it was amazing.”

“It’s just a shame we won’t be able to see it tonight, once the sun goes down,” Fitz added. “When it’s all lit up? It’s supposed to look really nice.”

It was a sign of just how good a mood he was in, Jemma thought, if he was actually willing to engage Janet in conversation. A subtle check revealed that he was even smiling. It made her heart flutter. He was happy because of her. 

“I’m just thankful I got to visit at all,” Janet said as the line started moving up the gangway. “This cruise has been a dream so far.”

Jemma dared to look for Fitz’s reaction this time, and found that he was watching her again, a soft look in his eyes. They shared a smile. “It really has been,” she replied, still looking at him.

Fitz let go of her hand so she could go ahead of him up the gangway, though she could feel the light touch of his hand at the small of her back. They kept up a stream of chatter with Janet as they walked to the Plaza, then bid her goodbye at the elevator bank. They didn’t speak again until they were out on their deck, headed for their suite.

“What do you want to do about dinner tonight?” Fitz asked. “Since we’re back so early.”

Jemma tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you want to try one of the specialty dining spots? We haven’t done that yet.”

He nodded as he pulled a key card from his wallet to swipe them into their suite. “Sounds good,” he said. Then he glanced back at her as they walked down the short hall to the living area. “Does that involve nicer dress than what we’re wearing?”

“Hmm, I think so,” she replied. “The brochure here in the cabin said some of them do reservations.”

Fitz grunted. “In that case, I think I’d like a shower. I feel kind of grungy.” He made a face as he shrugged his shoulders beneath his short-sleeved button-down shirt. 

Laughing at his expression, Jemma said, “Excellent idea, Fitz. I could use one too. Do you want first dibs?”

He sat down on the sofa to start unlacing his hiking boots. “No, you can go first. I’ll call Harry and see about getting us a reservation while you’re in. Any preferences on where we eat?”

“No, not particularly.” Jemma shook her head. “Thank you. I’ll try not to take too long.” She hesitated a second, almost loathe to leave his side lest the bubble of the new thing they’d cultivated between them burst. But she forced herself to turn and leave, giving him a smile as she went.

True to her word, she made her shower a quick one, only lingering long enough to wash her hair and give her body a quick scrub. She let her mind wander back over the details of their kiss again as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair, and couldn’t help but smile as she looked forward to the evening. Maybe there would be more kisses in the future. Dressing up for a dinner reservation could be considered a date, or as much of one as they could take on a cruise ship. Dates tended to end with kisses--the good ones, at least. She wondered if Fitz would see it that way.

When she emerged from the bathroom clad in a robe with her damp hair combed out, she found Fitz sitting up on the bed, reading something on his phone. He looked up at her and smiled as she entered the bedroom, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes tracked over her robe.

“I had Harry get us a reservation at the teppanyaki grill,” he said, setting his phone aside. “I hope Japanese is okay.”

Jemma lit up, her mouth already watering. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Good choice.”

Fitz grinned and stood. “Good,” he said back. “I’d better go hurry in the shower, because our reservation’s in a half hour.” He edged by, his hands lighting on her shoulders as he moved past her. “‘Scuse me--”

She turned to watch him disappear into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him, as a very faint plume of disappointment rose in her chest. He could have kissed her then. But it was alright; there was a chance (a chance!) they’d get distracted and miss their reservation if they gave into any temptations now, and they had the whole evening ahead of them to look forward to.

-:-

In the end, they were both ready in plenty of time to make their reservation. Jemma felt like she was walking on air; it really did feel like they were on a date. Fitz had cleaned up so nicely. She’d heard him moving around in the bathroom and the closet as she’d sat in front of the mirror in the bedroom, putting on a little makeup. When he finally came out, she sucked in a quiet gasp. She was used to seeing him in his printed button-downs, ties, and cardigans at the lab, but this was different. He’d put on a pale blue dress shirt and tucked it into dark charcoal trousers, added a belt, and rolled his sleeves up a bit. It was a more mature look than she could remember seeing on him in recent memory, and damn if it wasn’t _ sexy_. He’d left the top button of his shirt open, exposing the hollow of his throat, and it was giving her ideas.

She blinked them away. “Ready to go?” she asked, capping her mascara and standing.

He gave her an obvious glance over, taking in her casual floral print dress and strappy sandals, and evidently found something he liked because he smiled. “Yeah,” he replied, and patted his pockets. “Got my wallet with the key card… yeah, I’m ready.”

Jemma smiled back at him and, feeling brave, held out her hand to him. “Let’s go then, I’m starving.”

Fitz took her hand, but instead of following after her, he tugged her close and lifted his free hand to her cheek, pulling her in for a sweet, lingering kiss. She’d been hoping for one but in the moment it was still so unexpected that it made her knees go weak again, just as his first kiss had. She had to lean into him as she kissed back in order to keep from melting.

When he drew back, there was a hint of color on his cheeks. “Still ready?” he asked, his hand still palming her cheek.

_ No_, she wanted to say, _ I want to kiss you for hours_. But they had a reservation to keep, so instead she smiled breathlessly and whispered, “Yes.”

They held hands all the way down to the main deck of the Plaza, where the teppanyaki grill was located. Now Jemma felt like she was ready to bubble over with nervous, excited energy; everything between them felt charged, loaded with new meaning. How would dinner go now that they were something more?

At the grill, Fitz gave her last name and their cabin number to the host, who led them to a traditional large, flat iron grill surrounded by a table that was already mostly full with other guests. Fitz darted forward to pull her chair out for her, and Jemma was ready to tell him that wasn’t necessary until she saw how eager to please he looked. Her heart softened. He really did see this as a date too, then, if he was doing this for her. He could have his chivalry, in that case.

She smiled and softly thanked him as she took her seat, then picked up the menu that was resting on her place setting as Fitz got settled next to her. “I think tonight calls for a cocktail,” she said, her eyes immediately going to the drinks list. “What about you?”

“Does it?” Fitz glanced at her before picking up his own menu. “Hmm, yeah, I wouldn’t mind a drink. Oh, look, they’ve got violet sake. I think I’d like to try that.”

“That’s not a cocktail,” Jemma teased him.

“But it’s alcohol,” he shot back, “so it counts. It’s a drink.”

Jemma huffed, but there was no heat behind it and she was smiling as she focused back on her menu. It was nice to know they could still cheerfully argue with one another and that the core of their friendship hadn’t changed just because some other things had. 

When the waiter came around to take everyone’s drink orders, Fitz asked for his sake and Jemma opted for a cocktail that basically amounted to a gin and tonic. Fitz also put in for an order of fried calamari as an appetizer.

“Go ahead and have some,” he insisted, nudging the plate toward her once it was brought out. “I’ll look bad if I eat the whole thing myself.”

“Since when have you been concerned about appearances while eating?” Jemma asked shrewdly, even as she picked up a piece of calamari to dip into the little ramekin of dipping sauce. “I’ve seen you eat an entire half of a large pizza without even blinking.”

Fitz grinned around a mouthful of fried food. “Yeah, but I was younger then,” he said once he’d swallowed. “And not so worried about what I looked like in front of my--my best friend.”

She hid a smile behind a sip of her drink, but his words left her feeling thoughtful, too. They would probably need to talk about what they were now, in terms of labels, but not right at the moment. Dinner was a bad time for it, especially when they were around strangers. It would have to wait for later.

It wasn’t long before their chef arrived with his cart of ingredients and started his show. Jemma had gone with Fitz to a hibachi restaurant near their apartment several times, which was similar to teppanyaki, and it was always a fun experience. She enjoyed watching the skill and dexterity of the chefs: the way they swept cooking rice back and forth across the grill, spun and flipped eggs on the edge of their spatulas, chopped ingredients with lightning speed, and created miniature flame volcanoes with stacks of onion rings. She was glad Fitz had chosen this for dinner; it felt like the perfect low-pressure location for a meal that was essentially a first date. 

By the time the chef handed them their plates--teriyaki salmon for Jemma, filet mignon for Fitz--they were both more than happy to dig in. They kept up a running conversation as they ate, just as easily as they always had, which was something else that comforted Jemma. It seemed that with every minute that passed, her heart felt lighter and lighter. It didn’t matter that she’d only just realized she wanted all of this with Fitz. Now that she had it, it was like this was all she had ever dreamed of.

Once they were through with dinner and had settled their tab, Fitz took her hand as they strolled slowly through the Plaza. “Can we go by the gelato counter for dessert?” he asked.

Jemma burst out laughing. “This holiday is turning you into a gelato fiend,” she said, eyes shining with mirth. “What are you going to do once we’re back home?”

Fitz just grinned and shrugged. “The frozen yogurt shop down the street will have to do,” he replied, swinging their hands a little between them. “We don’t go there nearly enough as it is.”

“Probably with good reason,” she grumbled good-naturedly. “_Your _ metabolism might be able to handle it, but mine certainly can’t.”

“Hey, we’re on holiday,” he reminded her, nudging her with their combined hands. “Calories are suspended. They don’t exist, for the duration of the trip. That was our agreement.” He squeezed her hand. “Besides, I’d, um--I’d think you’d look beautiful regardless.”

A wide smile spread over Jemma’s face. What a sweet, darling man--had Fitz always thought things like this, and only now felt like he could say them? She’d always known that his prickly exterior hid a softer center, but this was beyond her wildest dreams. Whatever his reasons were, the flattery worked, because she pulled him toward the gelato counter with a smile on her face.

They each got two scoops in a waffle cone and took them up to the pool deck to enjoy the evening air. Jemma would have preferred leaning against the ship’s railing and looking out over the sea, but she knew it would make Fitz nervous, so she stayed with him on some deck chairs closer to the bar. 

“I think today has been rather good,” she said, nibbling at her strawberry scoop.

“Yeah?” Fitz had been licking at his chocolate, but here he paused to look at her, and cautious hope was plain to see in his eyes. It made her heart melt for him again.

“Yes,” she said firmly, leaning toward him a little. “This whole holiday has been, so far.”

Fitz took another bite of his gelato and smiled. “I think so, too. Present company has a lot to do with it.”

Jemma grinned, a pulse of warmth lighting up her heart. He really was being such a charmer. “Just a lot?” she teased. “Not everything?”

He rolled his eyes at her shameless fishing for compliments, but he still smiled back. “A lot,” he repeated. “The sights have been nice, too.”

“The sights are nicer with someone excellent to see them with,” she pointed out, still fishing.

“That’s very true.” Fitz’s expression turned softer, and he reached over to pick up her free hand, linking their fingers together. “And I do have a very excellent someone.”

It was a good thing Jemma had his hand to anchor her down; she was in danger of floating away at this point, she felt so artlessly happy. The way he smiled at her made her heart dance, and the earnest look in his eyes let her know he meant everything he said.

Fitz kissed her again once they’d finished their gelato and had stood to leave, and for Jemma it was the best sort of nightcap: the perfect end to a perfect evening, from a man who was butting the edge of perfect himself. If this was what being Fitz’s girlfriend was like, she’d truly been missing out all this time.

-:- 

Later that night when they climbed into bed, Fitz hesitated before bashfully opening his arms to her. Utterly delighted and not bothering to hide it, Jemma accepted his invitation and curled up against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. She let out a small sigh when his arms came around her, and they both relaxed.

“Is this alright?” Fitz asked into the darkness.

“Of course it is,” she answered, no-nonsense. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

She felt him nod against her hair. “Right,” he said. “Right. That’s… that’s good.”

Sensing he was a little nervous--she supposed maybe he’d never done this with anyone before, which was a thought to turn over at another time--she pulled herself closer to him, then rested her hand in the center of his chest. “This is nice,” she said softly. “It’s comfortable.” And it really was. Resting in his arms felt right, like she was made to sleep there.

“Yeah,” Fitz murmured. “It is.” After a pause, he pressed a light kiss to her crown. 

Again, the thought occurred to Jemma that they needed to talk about their shifting relationship, but now wasn’t really a good time for it, either. They had another early morning coming and Fitz sounded sleepy. Besides, what if he didn’t want to label them? What if he thought it was too soon? She didn’t want to ruin a wonderful new thing by going too fast. No, it would be better to just go with the flow and let their relationship evolve naturally. There would be a better time to bring up the subject of what to call themselves; she would know it when it came around. With that thought reassuring her, she snuggled deeper into Fitz’s side and let herself drift off into an easy, warm sleep.


	12. Mykonos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to @_driedflowers_ on Twitter for helping me out with the Italian in this chapter!

When the alarm went off in the morning, neither Fitz nor Jemma jumped or bolted away from each other. Instead, they woke up in much the same position they’d fallen asleep in: Jemma cuddled up against Fitz’s side, his arm still loose around her and his face turned into her hair. Fitz grumbled at the cheery tune blasting from Jemma’s phone, but didn’t move. Jemma turned away long enough to silence the alarm, then rolled right back into his side.

“What time is it?” Fitz mumbled, his voice hoarse with sleep. “You didn’t set the 5 o’clock alarm, did you? No one should be up that early, it’s criminal.”

“No, I didn’t.” Jemma snuggled into his chest, too caught up in the experience of waking up fully in Fitz’s arms to really pay attention to his grouchiness. “We both agreed it was too early, remember? I let us sleep in a bit.”

Their ship was scheduled to dock at Mykonos very early in the morning, allowing passengers to disembark as soon as 7 a.m. Jemma had been willing to try getting up at 5 to make the most of their time on the island, but Fitz had convinced her that having a bit of a lie-in would be fine, and they could still see and do everything they wanted to. 

“Ah. Right. That’s good.” She felt his arm come back around her, and then his fingers started lightly combing through her hair. “Still early, though.”

She laughed quietly, hugging her arm over his waist. “We’ve been getting up early every day,” she said. “You should be used to it by now.”

“Oh, I am,” Fitz replied with a sigh. “But it still feels unfair that we’re on holiday and we still have to get up early like we would for work.”

Jemma just smiled. She was still far too enthralled with being so close to him, the fresh newness of waking up this way. He felt so solid yet soft against her, and he was so_ warm_. Seeing him all tousled and touched golden here and there by the light peeking through the balcony door drapes made him look extremely attractive, and she couldn’t believe that this was her life now: lying in bed in her best friend’s arms while he gently stroked her hair and grumped, like he was wont to do. 

“There are worse ways to wake up,” she said, feeling brave. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and her heart skipped when she took in how he looked, messy hair and eyes closed with a day’s worth of stubble dusting his cheeks. 

At her voice, he opened his eyes and looked down at her, his hand stilling on her hair. “Yeah, there are,” he replied, his voice soft and eyes intent on hers. But when he leaned down to kiss her, Jemma quickly lifted a hand to press to his mouth and stop him.

“No,” she said when his eyes went wide with confusion. “Absolutely not. Not yet.”

His eyebrows raised even higher. “But Jemma--”

She ignored the enticing sensation of his lips moving against her fingers and shook her head. “I’m not going to subject you to my morning breath. You can kiss me after we both brush our teeth.”

This time Fitz laughed, but his tone was still pleading. “I don’t care about morning breath,” he said. “I just want to kiss you.”

Jemma’s heart fluttered again, and her resolve almost cracked in the face of how earnest he looked, but she stayed firm. “After we brush our teeth,” she repeated, and pulled herself away from him to sit up. “I’m going to go have a shower. Think about what you might like for breakfast?”

“Sure, sure,” Fitz said, looking a little bereft as his head dropped back onto his pillow. “Don’t take too long.”

There was a hint of want in his voice, and a little bit of demand that Jemma found very intriguing. “I won’t,” she promised him, sliding out of bed. “Because I do want that kiss.”

Leaving him with that to chew on, she smiled and turned to go into the bathroom.

Standing beneath the rainfall showerhead as she washed her hair, Jemma let her mind wander over what it might have been like to give into Fitz--to let him kiss her while they were still in bed. It was a titillating thought, the idea of both his arms coming around her as he pressed her down into the mattress, and part of her really wished she’d just let him do it. But she had her quirks, as she supposed they could be called, and a dislike of morning breath was one of them. She would kiss him as much as he liked once they’d both brushed their teeth.

When she came out of the bathroom, Fitz was still curled up in bed, but he had his phone with him and was scrolling through something on the screen. He looked up when she entered. 

“What do you think about ordering in today?” he asked. “So we can get off the ship a little quicker. I know that’ll probably soothe your itinerary-focused mind a little.”

She refused to rise to his gently-teasing bait, but still smiled nonetheless. “That sounds perfect,” she replied, watching as Fitz set his phone on the bedside table and sat up. “I can call and order while you’re in the shower. What would you like?”

“Um… what I had the other day, what they passed off as an English brekkie,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that, please.”

“Not a problem,” Jemma replied, heading for the phone in the living area. “I’ll go call it in now, and hopefully it shouldn’t take too long.”

After she put their breakfast order in, she spent Fitz’s time in the shower getting dressed and drying her hair. She’d just set her hairbrush down and stepped back from the mirror when she heard the bathroom door open. She looked up to see Fitz striding through, freshly showered and shaved and dressed for the day--and he was headed straight for her, determination writ across his face.

Before she even had time to react, he’d swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, stealing her breath with a kiss that she felt down to the tips of her toes. For a brief moment Jemma couldn’t move, she was so stunned by his passion--but then she was galvanized into action, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders as she kissed him back just as fervently.

She could taste the mint of his toothpaste on his lips and, oddly enough, it only made her want to kiss him more. So she slid a hand around the back of his neck as she pressed closer to him and slanted her mouth against his to deepen the kiss. Fitz responded by tightening his arms around her, his hands splayed wide and warm on her back.

As they traded increasingly heated kisses, a faint thought floated through Jemma’s mind: who had taught Fitz to kiss like this? He’d never had a steady girlfriend with whom to practice, not that she knew of. She felt the briefest touch of jealousy toward the unknown girl he’d snogged who’d given him the skills to melt her brain this way, but then she considered that her Fitz was clever. Maybe he was just naturally talented in this department as well. In the end, she supposed it didn’t really matter because she was reaping the rewards right _ now_: firm, eager kisses turning her bones to jelly and sending hot desire curling through her, and hands clutching her close. A part of Jemma couldn’t believe she was locked in an embrace with her best friend like this, but the rest of her was crowing with joy. It felt like destiny, like maybe they’d always been building up to this.

Somehow she found herself sprawled on the bed, Fitz hovering above her, his tongue slowly stroking over hers as he kissed her deeply. How had that happened? It was every bit the fantasy she’d entertained in the shower. Well, almost. Her hands slid down from his shoulders, over his chest and ribs to his hips, where she tugged impatiently. She wanted to feel his weight on her, his warmth, wanted to hold him close. After another insistent tug Fitz lowered himself to her without breaking their kiss, and Jemma let out a soft noise as he settled on top of her, one of his knees slipping between hers. 

It was impossible to deny how turned on she was now--her entire body felt like it was burning where it met his, from her breasts pressed to his chest down to their tangled feet. And she could _ feel _ him, just nudging at her inner thigh. Knowing he was just as aroused as she was ignited something deep within her, so she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him even closer, arching up into him as they kissed. Fitz groaned into her mouth, his hips stuttering forward into hers, and Jemma gasped as a bright flash of pleasure flared between them--

A sharp knock sounded at the cabin’s door. “Room service!” a muffled voice called. 

Fitz flinched hard and immediately pulled away, going back up on his elbows and knees above her. Jemma froze, her face flushed, and stared up at him; he was breathing hard like he’d just run a race. He stared back down at her, similarly immobile, until Jemma came back to her senses.

“I’ll get it,” she breathed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz muttered, quickly shifting away from her to sit up on the opposite side of the bed.

Jemma stood and hurried through the bathroom shortcut, trying to push down the aborted lust still fizzing in her veins, and reached out to open the cabin’s front door. She found Harry on the other side of the door with a food cart.

“Good morning, Jemma!” he greeted her. “I’ve got your breakfast here, as requested.”

She murmured a polite hello at him and stood aside to let him enter with the food cart, just as she heard the interior door to the half bath click shut behind her. She didn’t glance back, knowing it was Fitz and that thinking of him right now would only make her cheeks burn, so she followed Harry into the living area.

“One English breakfast and one oatmeal and scones,” he said, expertly transferring dishes from the cart to the table and removing the lids. “How did you like it the other day?”

“Oh!” Jemma shook her head and blinked, trying to clear her mind of thoughts that wanted to wander. “Yes, it was very good. I really enjoyed it. I--I know Fitz did as well.”

Harry glanced up at her as he set their teacups down on the table. “Excellent. Where is Fitz now?”

There went her flushing cheeks. “Ah, I think he’s in the loo,” she said, nervously tucking her hair behind one ear.

Harry nodded and turned to pour their tea. If he thought she looked disheveled or like she’d just been aggressively snogging someone, he didn’t mention it. Very professional of him, Jemma thought. Or perhaps, as a butler, he’d already seen everything and nothing fazed him anymore.

After he’d finished pouring the tea and made sure everything was set out and arranged just so, Harry straightened up. “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”

Jemma shook her head, giving him a small smile. “No, I don’t think so. This looks wonderful, thank you so much.”

He smiled back and inclined his head. “I’ll get this out of your way, then,” he replied, gesturing to the food cart. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

She watched him leave, and as soon as the door shut behind him, Fitz appeared in the entrance to the bedroom. Jemma turned to him and their eyes met; for a wild second she thought he was going to close the space between them and kiss her again, the air felt so charged. But he only ducked his head and took in a shaky breath before coming to join her at the table.

“This looks really good,” he mumbled, taking a seat across from her. He glanced up as he reached for the little jug of milk for their tea and gave her a quick smile; then he focused on his food.

Jemma exhaled quietly and pulled out her chair to sit down as well. Right. So they were just going to move past it and not say anything, acting as though they hadn’t been right on the edge of pulling at each other’s clothes. She could do that. Maybe. 

It made for a slightly awkward meal, both of them concentrating on eating and not looking at each other. But try as she might, Jemma’s mind kept straying back to the way Fitz had kissed her--_god_, those kisses--and how he’d felt on top of her, pressing her down into the bed. She was pretty sure her cheeks were still pink and occasionally, when she snuck a peek at Fitz across the table and their eyes met, she’d see color bloom on his face as well before they both quickly looked away. That meant he was thinking about it, too, she told herself, which was only fair.

She had finished her oatmeal and moved on to her scones when Fitz cleared his throat and said, “So we’re doing Mykonos today, yeah?”

Jemma looked up, a wave of relief washing through her. She’d been trying to think of an icebreaker, but he’d managed it on his own. “Yes,” she replied, choosing to aim for an easy and cheerful tone. “I thought we could go see the windmills and take a walk through the old town before we go to the beach after lunch.”

“Ah, that’s right.” A small smile ticked up the corners of Fitz’s mouth. “You’re dragging me to the beach again.”

She gave him a slightly scolding stare. “I originally only planned one beach day for us, but as you’ll remember I had to make some quick itinerary adjustments when our Vesuvius hike was cancelled. But you had fun, didn’t you?”

His smile widened. “I did, yeah,” he said. “It was the company that made it fun, though.”

A reflexive smile lit up Jemma’s face in return, and she had to look down before it got too bright. She was doubly relieved to see that Fitz was easing back into being adorably sweet; it was encouraging. One rudely interrupted snog hadn’t burst the bubble of what was developing between them. “You’re right,” she allowed, looking back up at him. “The company _ did _ make it fun.”

-:-

Once they’d finished breakfast and gathered up everything they needed to bring with them for the day, Fitz and Jemma disembarked the ship to go out and see Mykonos. A short bus ride took them from the port to just outside the old town, and from there they walked. Fitz had to work at playing casual when Jemma reached out to take his hand as they walked along the seafront after leaving the bus stop; the warm way she smiled at him made his heart skip.

She was still treating him the same, like she actively wanted to be with him, and for that he was profoundly grateful. He hadn’t botched things by letting his guard down and practically mauling her. He hadn’t intended for it to go that far; it was just supposed to be one kiss, making good on the fact that he’d brushed his teeth like Jemma had asked. He’d only planned on teasing her for her hangup.

But then she’d responded far beyond his wildest dreams, kissing him back with a fervor he couldn’t have anticipated. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since, how pliant Jemma had been in his arms and the way she’d tugged him down onto the bed after her. As mind-blowing as it had been, he was actually a little afraid of what could have happened if Harry hadn’t shown up with their food when he had; he did believe in such a thing as going too fast, and that might have been it.

He’d felt awkward as hell over breakfast until he’d told himself to get his own head out of his arse and just talk to her. He was positive she wasn’t spinning her mental wheels over it--or, at least, not nearly as much as he was. He’d seen the way her cheeks had gone pink when he looked at her. That was a sign she was thinking about it at least a _ little _ bit.

It wouldn’t be smart to let it consume his thoughts all day, however. He would get distracted and Jemma would be bound to notice he wasn’t paying attention to her carefully researched lecture on whatever areas they were visiting. And there was no way in hell he would admit to her that he was fantasizing about kissing down the column of her throat, just to hear her gasp. So, no--he definitely needed to pull himself back into the moment and pay attention to what was going on around him.

Fortunately, Mykonos made it easy. It was a sunny day with a slight breeze blowing in off the sea, and what he could see of the island so far was beautiful. The water that lapped at the rocky shore close to the paved promenade they were strolling along was a crystal clear turquoise, fading into a deeper blue farther from shore, and ahead of them the old town of Mykonos spread out around the marina, its whitewashed walls typical of the Aegean shining bright in the sunlight.

“I’m glad the weather’s held up the whole time we’ve been out so far,” Jemma said as they walked. “I don’t know what we would do if it rained.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Fitz replied, glancing at her before turning back to face the path again. “We’d find something. Maybe they sell raincoats or umbrellas on the ship and we’d battle the elements.”

“It’d be miserable.”

“Yeah, it would.” He gave her hand in his a light squeeze. “Let’s hope it stays this way. We’ve only got a few more days left.” Jemma hummed quietly. When he looked over at her again, she was giving him a bit of a searching stare. He could tell, even through her sunglasses. It made him laugh. “What is it?” he asked.

Her mouth twitched. “Oh--nothing.”

“No, really,” he insisted, grinning a little self-consciously. “What was that look for?”

A full smile broke out over Jemma’s face and she looked away, shaking her head. “Really, it’s nothing.”

Fitz decided to let it drop. She could have her little secrets, and he could keep holding her hand.

They made their way along the waterfront, past small hotels and cafés and boutiques that catered exclusively to tourists, until they were forced to cut through the main part of the old town to cross to the far shore where the windmills were located. The streets were very narrow, stone-paved with the cracks filled in with plaster, and closed off to vehicle traffic. It reminded him of the Plaka District but much more compact and crowded with both buildings and people. If Jemma hadn’t already been holding his hand, he probably would have taken it now just so they didn’t get separated.

She kept an eye on her GPS as they walked so they didn’t get lost in the winding, twisty streets. Occasionally she stopped to take a quick photo: a brightly-painted blue door, a shock of vivid pink bougainvillea climbing across a balcony railing, a rack of colorful handmade goods on display outside a shop. It was nice, being able to take their time and not feel like they were on a strict schedule. Seeing Jemma so captivated by everything around her was a joy in its own right. These were the moments that Fitz liked best, the ones he carefully filed away in his memory to keep for later.

When they finally made it over to the section of the old town where the historic windmills were, Fitz sighed. They would have to traverse a long set of stone steps going up a sloping hill to reach them.

“Stairs,” he grumbled. “So much walking. I swear, if I haven’t lost at least half a stone by the time this is all done, what will it have been for?”

Jemma laughed brightly and tugged on his hand, urging him to stop dragging his feet. “It’s not that bad, Fitz! It’s not even a steep hill. Come on.”

“Yeah, but, all of the--” He exaggerated going up the first few steps, lifting his knees high and swaying a bit as his backpack shifted on his shoulders. “You’ll feel it, later. It’s like doing a full workout on an elliptical.”

Jemma laughed again, though this one sounded more like a tut. “Oh, it is _ not_,” she said. “Maybe if you exercised more at home--”

“No,” Fitz said immediately. “Absolutely not. The weekends are solely for sitting in my pajamas and eating crisps on the sofa. I’ve earned that after a week in the lab.”

She squeezed his hand and kept pulling him up the steps. “I’m just saying, if you came with me on my Saturday morning runs you probably wouldn’t shrivel up at the slightest suggestion of physical exertion.”

The thought entered unbidden into his mind that there was one type of physical exertion he would definitely not shrivel up at, but no sooner had it occurred to him than he bit his tongue, _ hard_, and focused his gaze on his feet. That was a path his mind did _ not _ need to go down.

“I don’t shrivel,” he muttered. “I conscientiously object.”

Jemma just shook her head and laughed again.

At the top of the hill, Fitz took a second to catch his breath before getting a good look at the windmills they’d come to see. They stretched away from them along the hilltop in a line, five of them, cylindrical with white plaster walls and wood-and-straw roofs. “They were built in the 16th century,” Jemma told him as they looked up at them, watching groups of tourists walking around them to get a closer look. “They used them to mill wheat. It was a very important source of income for the island.”

Fitz glanced aside at her. “I’m glad I’ve got you to tell me about these things, though our tour guides _ have _ been nice,” he said, smiling. “I just know how much work you put into this trip, and you’ve been itching to show off.”

Jemma beamed back at him. “It’s nice to have a receptive audience,” she replied. “Did you know that there are sixteen windmills total on the island?”

He crossed his arms, his grin widening. “I did not,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Where are the other ones?”

“I’m not sure, the websites I looked at didn’t really say.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “But these are the most famous ones. They’re nice, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “It’s a nice view from up here, too.” He nodded back down the hill where the entire harbor was visible at its foot, the white buildings of the old town seeming to grow up organically around it. In the distance, they could even see their cruise ship docked at port.

“Oh, that_ is _ beautiful.” Jemma pulled out her phone to take a picture or two, then grinned at him. “Come take one with me?”

He rolled his eyes, just to keep up appearances. “If you insist,” he said, but he was smiling too as he stepped over to join her. They turned around so the windmills were behind them, and he put his arm around her shoulders to tuck her in close to him. Then Jemma held up her phone; Fitz properly smiled for the first photo, but right when she went to take another, he--feeling bold and especially affectionate--turned his face into hers and pressed a fast kiss to her cheek.

“Fitz!” she squealed, laughing, and he pulled away just enough to grin at her, pleased he’d gotten such a positive reaction. She glanced at him long enough to give him a gently exasperated look, but her eyes were sparkling as she brought up the photo on her phone. He leaned in to get a better look at it. There were the windmills perfectly lined up in the background, but the two of them--his heart leapt. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips puckered as he kissed her cheek. Jemma was mid-laugh, her mouth stretched wide in a smile and her eyes crinkled at the corners. She looked positively radiant.

“Grimes would lose his mind if I posted this one to Instagram,” she said, tapping at the phone screen to zoom in a little. “Everyone would, really.”

Fitz laughed, even as the thought of everyone knowing about how their relationship had changed made him a little nervous. She was right. If she posted it now, they’d never hear the end of it from their work colleagues. Her notifications would go wild for the rest of their holiday. “Maybe we should save that one,” he suggested. “Post it later.”

Jemma hummed thoughtfully, then nodded and locked her phone. “Right,” she said, and smiled up at him. “Later.”

They spent a while at the windmills, getting a closer look at them and visiting the one that had been turned into a museum, before venturing back into the old town. They didn’t bother with using their GPS this time, aiming to truly wander, and let themselves get lost exploring all of the little shops and cafes tucked into nooks and crannies. In a way, the village reminded Fitz of an Escher drawing; there were steps and staircases and little offshoot paths everywhere, going uphill or leading up to balconies or totally separate shops and houses, and it was incredibly easy to lose sense of which direction you were headed in. 

He didn’t mind, though. It was a marked difference from the hustle and bustle of the major cities they’d visited, and he actually quite liked it. Even if Mykonos was packed with tourists, it still felt quaint and slower, and it was good to experience both sides of travel.

They walked around until Fitz’s stomach rumbled loudly, signaling that it was time for lunch. Jemma laughed and took his hand again as they searched for a place to eat. She finally lit up when they stumbled across a trendy-looking restaurant with a large, open covered patio lined with neat, white tables. “Oh, this looks good,” she said.

Fitz squinted at the sign hung on the wall outside of the front entrance. “Japanese? But we just had Japanese last night.”

“It’s Japanese_ fusion_,” Jemma corrected him, pointing to the sign with her free hand. “Suddenly I’m in the mood for sushi.” Seeing the way his face screwed up at the mention of the raw food, she rushed to add, “I know you don’t like it, but I’m sure they’ve got something on the menu you’ll eat. Please?” She squeezed his hand between both of hers and leaned into his side, giving him a pretty smile.

_ Blast_, he thought. _ Doesn’t she know I’m weak for that smile? _ Maybe she did, because he sighed and said, “Oh, alright. Let’s go in.”

Jemma got her sushi; even if Fitz didn’t care for the stuff he had to admit it was presented in a rather appealing way. Rice, cucumber, and some type of white cream wrapped in a pale raw meat--fish?--drizzled with scallions and some type of brown glaze. He was happy to stick with his lobster spaghetti, though, a decadent dish he never would have thought of on his own. It was very filling, too, and by the time he was finished, he felt like he could take a nap. But it was not to be.

“Time to head for the beach,” Jemma grinned as they settled the bill. “We can let our food settle on the ride over.”

-:- 

Platis Gialos was on the southern side of Mykonos island, about a fifteen-minute bus ride from the old town. Jemma knew from the moment they arrived that it would be a different experience from the beach in Positano; there, it hadn’t been crowded, the beach almost sleepy in the relaxing village atmosphere it exuded. Here, the hills surrounding the beach were lined with pristine white villas and hotels, and the shore itself was packed with tourists, either sunning themselves on the rows of chaise lounges or splashing about in the shallows. Farther out, expensive-looking yachts of varying sizes dotted the water.

“Oh, the water is _ gorgeous_,” Jemma gushed as she set her bag down on one of the lounge chairs they’d rented to use. “Look at it. Have you ever seen water that color blue before?”

Fitz looked up from where he’d just dropped his backpack onto the chair next to hers. “Nope,” he said, squinting at the shore. “At least, not in person.”

Jemma smiled as she toed her sandals off, still looking out towards the brilliant clear aqua of the shallows. It looked like something out of a travel magazine or a postcard, and they were lucky enough to be here to experience it together.

She glanced at Fitz as she fished in her bag for the sun cream. He’d unzipped his backpack to take out the towels they’d stuffed inside, and draped one over the back of her chaise lounge. Now he was shaking the other one out and folding it over the back of his own chair, pausing to push his sunglasses up his nose. She smiled to herself. It was a treat to get to spend another few hours at the beach with Fitz. He looked so appealing in his swim trunks, even if he was on the leaner side, and she was looking forward to the opportunity to shamelessly ogle him a bit more.

Jemma had just sat down to undo the buttons on the front of her sundress and pull it off when Fitz suddenly yelped and sat down very hard on his chaise lounge, facing her, a look of panic on his face. “What?” she asked him, concerned. “What is it?”

He shook his head, a dull flush coloring his cheeks. “Um--uh--it’s--uh,” he stammered, gesturing uselessly at chest level with one hand. “Um--”

She peered at him, even more bewildered. “What’s wrong?” she asked him again. When he didn’t reply, just flushed an even deeper red, Jemma twisted around to look behind her, scanning for anything he might have seen that could have given him a fright. It didn’t take her long to find it. Several rows over, a young woman--an attractive one, she noted dimly--was stretching out on her chaise lounge, getting ready for some topless sunbathing. Jemma’s mood instantly changed to bemusement.

“Is that it?” she asked, swiveling back around to face Fitz. “They’re just breasts.”

He made a strangled noise, his throat visibly bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah--well--” he muttered, clenching his fists in his lap, “there are--there’s--there’s _ kids _ out here!”

Jemma burst out laughing, which only made his face screw up even more, but she couldn’t help it. He just sounded so _ scandalized_. “Yes, there are,” she said gently, trying to contain her mirth. “But topless beaches are a bit of a Continental thing, remember? It’s just what they do here. Maybe we’ve been in America too long.” Fitz just grumbled, and she reached out to poke his knee. “Oh, please, you’re acting like you’ve never seen breasts before.”

His face was practically purple now, and that actually gave Jemma pause. Maybe he really hadn’t. Not in person, at least. He’d never had a serious girlfriend, she reminded herself. That was an interesting thought to file away for later.

“Anyway, it’s something I’ve always been curious to try,” she continued blithely, going back to undoing the buttons on her dress. “You know, when in Rome, do as the Romans do and all of that.”

“What--” Fitz choked. Jemma looked back up at him, and his expression as he gaped at her was an amusing mix of horror and arousal. That was something to take note of for later, too--the arousal. “You mean you want to--_here_\--”

Jemma blinked at him, then laughed again. He was adorable. “Oh! No. No, no. Not _ here_, especially not if it’s going to make you so uncomfortable.” She patted his knee. “I’ll just have to save it for some other holiday, the next time I find myself in Europe.”  
  
Fitz ducked his head and started pulling off his shoes, muttering something to himself under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch. It was hard to tell if he was disappointed or relieved. It was just as funny to her as it was thrilling--now she had compelling evidence, along with that morning’s amazing snog, that Fitz wanted her.

She pulled her sundress off over her head and turned to fold it over the back of her chaise lounge on top of her towel, then picked up the tube of sun cream she’d dug out of her bag. “Fitz, can you get my back again?” she asked him.

“Hmm?” He’d just stuffed his socks inside his shoes and was unbuttoning his shirt. He coughed once. “Oh, yeah, sure. Just let me get this off.”

Jemma squeezed a bit of product into her palm and started rubbing it onto her chest and arms as she watched him get his shirt off, privately pleased at the light play of muscles she could see beneath his skin. “Alright,” he said, holding out a hand once he’d set his shirt aside. “Pass it over.”

She paused her work to hand him the tube of cream, then shifted around on her chair to put her back to him. When his hands landed on her shoulders a few seconds later, she was very happy to note that they were much more sure than they had been in Positano. Perhaps their newfound closeness had given him some courage and confidence.

They took turns with the sun cream, making sure they were both well-covered and not a spot had been missed. Jemma enjoyed the attention from Fitz even if it was a necessary and innocent thing, and in turn she was glad to get her hands on him again. But when they finished up and Fitz made to stretch out on his chaise lounge, looking like he wanted a nap, Jemma tutted at him. “Don’t tell me you want to sleep,” she complained.

“Why not?” he shot back. “I’m on a full stomach and the warm sun’s got me sleepy. Now that I’m sure I won’t fry to a crisp, this would be the perfect time for a nap.”

Jemma put her hands on her hips, standing over him. “We don’t have all that much time here, and I was really hoping you’d come out in the water with me. Please?” When his face remained impassive, she gave him her most winsome smile “_Please_?”

Fitz sighed and sat back up, then allowed Jemma to pull him to standing. "Alright," he said as she started to tug him across the white sand. "But only as long as you realize I'm going to dunk you straight into the water."

Jemma gasped and dropped his hand, taking a sharp step away from him. "You wouldn't dare!"

Fitz laughed and reached out for her, trying to grab her around the waist. "I would," he insisted as Jemma darted out of his grasp. “I’m giving up a nice afternoon nap for you. It’s only fair.”

“Well, I haven’t got anyone else to swim around with--” She yelped as Fitz succeeded in catching her, and together they stumbled right to the water’s edge. The surf splashed up over their feet, and then it was Fitz’s turn to shout.

“Bloody hell, that is_ cold_!” he cried, letting go of her and taking a step back. “Christ, it’s like the ruddy Arctic!”

Jemma laughed, turning to face him as another wave washed over her toes. It _ was _ cold, she’d give him that, but it wasn’t _ freezing_. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “Come on.”

Fitz shook his head, giving the water a baleful stare. “How can it be so cold when it’s so hot out here?”

“The sea currents must be cooler here, that’s all,” Jemma said, holding her hands out to him. “Come on, we can go in slowly. We’ll ease you in, let you adjust in steps.”

Fitz grudgingly gave her his hands, and she slowly pulled him forward into the water. He made a face when the water hit his feet again, and another when they were shin-deep. “I’m still going to dunk you,” he muttered.

Jemma laughed again and decided to try being a little flirty under the guise of offering some positive reinforcement. “If you make it out to waist-deep, I’ll give you a kiss.” 

She bit her lip to swallow another laugh when Fitz immediately perked up, light coming into his eyes as he gave her hands a squeeze. “How can I turn down a prize like that?” he said. His jaw set with determination. “Let’s go.”

Jemma led him deeper into the water, step by step, noting when his lower lip started trembling with the cold and admiring his refusal to complain about it now that he knew he had a reward waiting for him. It was definitely cold, but it felt refreshing to her--a nice contrast to the hot sun beating down on them from above. 

When they finally reached their target depth, gentle waves lapping just above their waist, Jemma stopped and gave Fitz a smile. “Here we are!” she chirped. “You made it, you brave man, you. Now I think I owe you a kiss.”

Fitz had been scrunching his nose at her gently patronizing tone, but when she mentioned the kiss his expression smoothed out and she swore his eyes darkened. “Yeah, you did,” he said, voice unexpectedly low, and took a step into her space.

They met in the middle in a soft, full kiss, her hands coming up to frame his face as his arms wrapped around her waist to pull her in close. It felt breathtakingly intimate, being pressed against him wearing nothing but a swimsuit, and Jemma thrilled at the feeling of his hands splayed wide over her bare back. The heat of his mouth was a pleasing contrast to the chill of the seawater, and she eagerly leaned into him, wanting more. But before she could lose herself and get carried away, Fitz broke the kiss and leaned back. 

“Told you I’d dunk you,” he said.

There was no time to react before he tightened his arms around her and abruptly lurched to one side, sending them both crashing beneath the waves.

Being enveloped by the cold of the water was like a sharp shock to her system; it wasn’t unpleasant, but Jemma’s first instinct was still to get back to the warm sun. She felt Fitz’s arms go loose around her, and she pushed back up to stand on her feet, gasping as she broke the surface of the water.

“Fitz!” she shrieked, turning around to face him as he too got his feet back beneath him. Pushing her dripping wet hair out of her eyes, she saw that his teeth were chattering, but he had a wide grin on his face. “You monster, I told you not to!”

If anything, his smile only grew. “I thought you said the water wasn’t cold,” he laughed, ducking away from her attempts to shove him in the chest. 

“It’s not!” Jemma shot back. “Not as cold as _ you’re _ making it out to be. But dunking is _ rude_\--”

Fitz laughed even harder. He might be insufferably smug at the moment, she thought, but his bright smile was a good look on him, as was his wet hair and the water droplets clinging to his skin. “You said you wanted to have fun!” he cried, grabbing her hands to still them. “I’m giving you fun. And we got the freezing cold over and done with fast, so now we can relax and do whatever--” He stopped suddenly, his gaze cutting behind her. “Oh, watch out--”

He pulled her forward just as something lightweight and soft smacked into the back of her head, startling her. Turning, she saw an inflatable beach ball drop into the water behind her and, a little farther back, a group of young men trying not to laugh while also looking apologetic.

“_Scusami_!” the one closest to her called out as she waded forward to pick up the ball. “_Scusami_.”

Jemma didn’t know what the other man was saying, but she could only guess that he was apologizing. She called out, “It’s alright!” and tossed the beach ball back.

The young man, who was tall and well-built with dark hair like the rest of his friends, smiled. “_Volete giocare_?” he said, gesturing at her with the ball.

Jemma frowned, then looked back at Fitz, who shrugged. Turning back to the young man, she replied, “Sorry?”

“_Dai, venite_,” he said, and mimed hitting the ball. Then he beckoned her forward while his friends nodded and likewise gestured for her to join them. “_Ci divertiamo_.”

She turned back to Fitz. “I think they want us to come play with them,” she said.

“You mean _ you_,” he replied, crossing his arms and sounding surly. “They aren’t even looking at me.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be jealous, it isn’t cute. They aren’t trying to pick me up, not when I’m obviously with you. Come on! It’ll be fun.”

She took Fitz’s hand and pulled him after her to go join the other young men. They all raised a chorus of jovials shouts and cheers as they approached and, she was pleased to note, seemed to have no problem with Fitz coming along with her.

“I’m Jemma,” she said, pointing to herself as she drew up alongside the man holding the beach ball. “And this is Fitz.”

The man nodded. “_Ciao_,” he replied, grinning. He pointed to himself. “Andrea.” Then he nodded at his friends. “Thomas, Matteo, Gabriel.” They all waved.

“Nice to meet you,” Jemma said politely, even though she wasn’t sure the men could understand her. But it was fine. They could understand each other well enough to toss around a beach ball for a little while. 

They split into teams, Jemma and Fitz with Andrea on one side and the other three men opposite them, and started a rousing round of beach volleyball with no net, trying to keep the ball aloft while occasionally knocking it past each other. Jemma found that it was a lot of fun and a great form of exercise, and she was glad for the invitation; even more than that, she was happy to see that Fitz was having fun, too, even letting his competitive side show as he and Andrea worked together to get the ball past Andrea’s friends.

As they played, they tried to talk more, though the language barrier did effectively keep them from truly understanding each other. Jemma was able to gather that the men were Italian, visiting from Rome. She wasn’t sure if she was successful in communicating that she had just been there, but she was able to tell them that she and Fitz hailed from Boston. They seemed to approve.

They stayed with their new friends, hitting the beach ball back and forth and laughing as they splashed around in the water, until the sun moved lower in the afternoon sky and Jemma realized they needed to leave if they wanted to make it back to the ship on time. Jemma apologized for having to leave, tapping her wrist and pointing at the sun to signal that it was time for them to go. When Andrea laughed and nodded, turning to speak to his friends in rapid Italian as he gestured at the two of them, she sighed in relief.

Goodbyes were exchanged as best as they could manage; Andrea even shook Fitz’s hand and pulled him into a brief bro hug, much to his bewilderment. Then they were waving and sloshing through the water back toward the shore.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Jemma asked as they made it to their beach chairs and reached for their towels. “Unexpected, but fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” Fitz agreed, rubbing his towel across his chest. “Even if Andrea spent half his time staring at your chest rather than actually paying attention to the ball.”

“Oh, he was not,” Jemma chided, flicking her towel at him. 

“Was so,” he countered. “That time Gabriel, I think it was, hit the ball straight into his face? He was busy looking at your boobs.”

She rolled her eyes. “Even if he was, doesn’t that imply that you were as well? To notice that he was staring in the first place?”

Fitz’s cheeks flushed a dull red. “Well--that--that’s different,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

Jemma couldn’t help but smile as she finished drying herself off. She’d said that his jealousy wasn’t cute, but it actually was, just a bit. It was flattering in a way to know he cared that other men were checking her out--it was a departure from the boredom he’d always previously expressed when men had shown interest in her or she’d had a boyfriend over at the apartment. Now, she wondered if it had all been an act.

Which led her to ponder--just how long had Fitz harbored feelings for her, and hidden them?

-:-

A nice, hot shower back in their suite to wash away the gritty sensation of sun cream and sea salt left Fitz feeling refreshed and energized for an evening larking about the ship. They’d had an early curfew in order to be underway to their next destination, so now he and Jemma had the whole night to themselves.

Dinner was at the buffet, as they felt in the mood for something casual and simple after an afternoon of water volleyball. Fitz was happy with his roast beef and potatoes while Jemma chose some baked tuna with a vegetable medley. He lightly teased her about always wanting to eat healthily, and she gently poked fun at his oversized slice of chocolate cake for dessert even as she stole a bite with her fork. It was just like any other meal they’d shared and, like during their dinner the night before that had felt like a date, Fitz was glad that the good, easy parts of their relationship could stay the same while others advanced. 

After dinner, they decided to scope out another one of the ship’s many bars and lounges. Jemma chose the rum bar located up on one of the higher decks, and Fitz had the feeling it might be a mistake from the moment they entered. The bar was just the type he’d confessed to Jemma he wasn’t the biggest fan of--dark, crowded, with booming loud music. But as Jemma led him in, clutching his hand tight, he spied some small tables grouped next to the bar that looked appealing, so maybe it wasn’t a total loss.

One of them was blessedly empty and she took him right to it, dropping his hand when they reached it and turning to him with a bright smile. “How do you feel about some drinks?” she asked, talking loudly to be heard over the thumping of the bass. 

He rolled his eyes at her with a little grin. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Jemma grinned and pushed at his shoulder. “Can you get me a rum punch, please? I’ll hold the table for us.”

Fitz heaved a great sigh, pretending she was asking a lot of him, but still kept his smile. “Sure, send me out into this mess alone,” he said, nodding his head toward the crowd out on the dance floor. Then he winked at her. “I’ll be right back.”

It took him a minute or two to politely elbow his way up to the front at the crowded bar, but once he was there he put in an order for Jemma’s rum punch, along with a rum and Coke for him. While he was waiting, he took a look around the lounge. It reminded him of the Boiler Room at the Academy in some ways, with the low lighting, loud music, and crowd chatter. The main difference here was that he could actually legally buy alcohol, and now he would have Jemma all to himself.

Or maybe not. As his gaze swept around back to the table they’d claimed, he saw that--just like at the hot tub--some random man had stopped to chat Jemma up. How was it that every time he left her side for so long as a minute, another well-built, unfairly handsome man swept in like a hawk to try and snatch her?

Fitz suppressed a groan and took in a deep breath. She’d said his jealousy wasn’t attractive and he wasn’t eager at all to put her off him, so he needed to get a handle on himself. Besides, he didn’t own her, and he didn’t really have a claim to stake either, did he? They hadn’t discussed yet what they were to each other in whatever this very new part of their relationship was. Jemma could talk to whoever she liked.

Taking in another breath, he looked back over. She was talking, yes, but she didn’t look especially eager or interested. That was something, maybe. The same couldn’t be said for today’s Tall, Dark, and Handsome, though. He had one arm resting on the table and was leaning toward her with a smile on his face. He was probably trying to get a look down her top.

“One rum punch and a rum and Coke!”

Fitz startled, then turned around to take his drinks from the bartender. Right--he could do this. He could walk back over and deliver her drink without being a complete tosser. 

“Here you go,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the music, slipping up next to Jemma and setting her drink down in front of her. Then he took his seat on the opposite side of the table from Tall, Dark, and Handsome, giving him what he hoped was a polite nod. Jemma took her drink with a bright smile that eased the knot in his gut tremendously.

Meanwhile, Tall, Dark, and Handsome was frowning in confusion. “You didn’t say you were _ with _ someone,” he said.

“I did,” Jemma replied, taking a long sip of her punch through the straw. “I said I was with my friend.”

Friend. _ Oh_. That didn’t make him feel so good. Especially since she seemed to have forgotten her rule of referring to him as her boyfriend whenever possible while on the ship. But he couldn’t remind her, because his tongue was stuck and what if she took it the wrong way? What if she didn’t want them to be anything specific?

Tall, Dark, and Handsome, at least, was taking it the right way. “Oh, I must have misunderstood,” he said with a grimace. “You two have a good night.”

He hurried off into the crowd, and a pleased look came over Jemma’s face as she took another sip of her punch. “Ugh, I’m glad _ he’s _ gone,” she said.

A cautious spark of hope lit in Fitz’s chest. “Yeah?” he managed, hurrying to swallow a sip of his rum and Coke. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?” 

Jemma laughed. “No, not really,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just--you know how it is. A girl can’t be alone in a bar or disco for a second without a man trying to chat her up. Even if she’s already there with someone.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, even though he didn’t really understand at all. Women didn’t tend to approach him in bars. “I imagine that’s got to be frustrating.”

“It is,” she agreed, setting her punch down. Then she shifted her chair closer to him and leaned into his side. “Why would I want to talk about boring things like the weather and club music anyway when I’ve got _ you_?”

That got a genuine smile out of him, a renewed sense of peace and contentment washing over him. Jemma always came back to him in the end, he supposed, even if neither of them had recognized it before. He would always be there for her, to talk to and complain to, tell her hopes and dreams and fears to, and now--maybe--so much more.

“Right,” he said, grinning down at her. “Because what better thing is there to do late in the evening than talk science at a disco?”

Jemma beamed, her eyes sparkling. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” she laughed, and all Fitz could think of in that moment was _ actually _ talking dirty to her, holding her close and whispering things he’d barely allowed himself to dream of, much less speak.


	13. Argostoli

“Oh, look at the view. Isn’t that gorgeous?”

Jemma turned away from the car window to poke at Fitz, who was reading on his phone. He looked up and leaned over to peer out her window, then smiled and nodded approvingly. “That_ is _nice,” he said. “You should get a photo before we hit the bottom of the hill.”

They were in a private car driving across the island of Kefalonia, right off the coast of Greece. The car had just crested the top of a mountain and down below them they could see the far coast, the valley dotted with fields and villages nestled between the higher hills. Low-hanging clouds dusted the mountaintops nearest to them, and the sun sparkled on the water in the distance. It looked like a postcard, and Fitz was right--it was photo-worthy. She plucked her phone from her bag to take a few pictures for posting later on Instagram.

“How much longer do we have, Dimitri?” she asked once she was done, looking toward the front of the car.

Dimitri, their driver--a cheerful, fast-talking man in his 50s--glanced up at her in the rearview mirror. “Not long,” he replied in accented English. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Don’t worry, I will get you there.”

“We’re not in a hurry,” Jemma reassured him, even though they sort of were--they only had a few hours to explore today before they had to be back on the ship.

They had docked that morning at the vibrant town of Argostoli, where they’d met Dimitri right at the entrance to the port. As he drove them through the town and out into the countryside, he told them a little about the history of the island: how Kefalonia, along with the other Ionian islands, had passed from ruler to ruler until they were united with Greece in the 1860s, and how a devastating earthquake in 1953 leveled virtually every building on the island save for one village on the northern coast. Many residents had left the island after the quake, Dimitri said, but in recent years tourism had helped bring it back to life.

The road they were on took them down out of the mountains until they reached a turnoff with a sign pointing to Drogarati Cave. Jemma perked up, sitting up straighter in her seat. This was their first destination of the day, and she was interested to see where they were going. 

Their car trundled down a road lined with thick hedges and tall cyprus trees until they eventually came to another turnoff, where they found a packed car park and a cluster of buildings with white stone walls and red-tiled roofs that she could only assume were built around the entrance to the cave. Dimitri let them out close to the buildings, promising to pick them up when they were through.

Once they had purchased their tickets they walked through to an open grassy area with trees on one end, where they could see a stone patio and a staircase leading down into a crevasse in the ground. Next to it, a tour group from the ship was gathering, and Jemma saw that Janet was among them. 

She instantly took Fitz’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. She still felt a little bad for her slip-up the night before, calling him just her friend, even if he hadn’t noticed it. She was fairly certain the man who had tried chatting her up would never run into Janet and reveal her mistake, but the guilt was still there--especially considering the change in their relationship. It was just that she and Fitz had been friends for so long that the answer had come automatically, before she could stop herself. And she had been more focused on what they possibly were to each other now instead of the role she was supposed to be playing, caught up in the question of whether or not he was actually her boyfriend. Without knowing for sure, ‘friend’ had come out instead.

At least Fitz hadn’t seemed to mind. She was thankful for that. But in the meantime, she was going to do her best to be the greatest girlfriend she could be, fake or not.

“So, we’re going down into that hole in the ground,” Fitz said slowly as they approached the tour group. “That’s--hmm.”

Jemma looked aside at him. “Yes. It’s a cave,” she replied. “Are you scared?”

He bit his lip like he desperately wanted to be brave and say no, but was in fact uncertain. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “I’ll let you know when we actually see the entrance.”

Janet smiled at them as they came up alongside her, and elbowed one of her friends to get her attention. “If it isn’t my favorite pair of lovebirds,” she said warmly. 

“Are you two ready for some spelunking?” her friend--Susan, Jemma thought--asked.

“I am,” Jemma replied brightly. “But I’m not so sure about this one.” She leaned her head on Fitz’s shoulder and smiled up at him.

“Oh?” Janet asked with interest. “Why’s that?”

Next to her, Fitz shrugged lightly and squeezed her hand. “Eh,” he muttered. “Heights and tight spaces make me nervous.”

Susan chuckled. “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” she reassured him. “I read it’s just a staircase down and then you walk into a big, huge room. I looked at pictures, there’s no tight squeezes.”

“See?” Jemma said, letting go of Fitz’s hand to rub hers over his back. “Nothing to worry about, it’ll be fine. And _ beautiful_. You’ll be glad you came.”

They stood around chatting for a bit before the tour group began to move toward the cave entrance, and Jemma and Fitz came along with them. As they stepped onto the stone patio, she saw that the stairs disappeared down into the rocky crevasse in several twists and turns. Janet and Susan went ahead of them, and she let Fitz go before her. As soon as he made it onto the steps and looked down, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white, his jaw set.

“You alright?” Jemma asked softly as he carefully made his way down the steps, trying not to hold up the people in line behind them.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, but his whole body was tense. “Just...don’t want to look down.”

She peered over the side of the staircase. It was indeed a bit of a drop, but the crevasse was tight and the railing kept them safe. They weren’t in any danger, but she appreciated that Fitz’s fear of heights could overrule his reason sometimes. “You’re fine,” she said, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. She wanted to reassure him without startling him. “Just focus on the steps right in front of you and you’ll make it.”

It was a long trip down, through a long corridor of stairs that gradually turned quite slippery the deeper they went; Jemma was glad for the railing to hold onto. But they made it to the bottom without incident, and she was happy to see Fitz relax, loosening his grip on the railing. 

A short walk down another narrow reddish-orange stone corridor brought them to the main attraction--the Chamber of Exaltation, according to the guide who was leading the group. It was an enormous underground room that seemed to stretch out forever, positively dripping with stalagmites and stalactites. The lighting that was set up throughout the cavern gave them an excellent look at the beauty of the formations while still letting them feel like they were in a dark cave.

“Oh, wow,” Fitz murmured as Jemma came to stand next to him. “This is really something.” Then he looked down at her. “You cold?”

“A bit,” she replied, crossing her arms and huddling against him. “The excursion guide said the cave maintains a temperature of around 17 degrees, which I thought would be plenty warm, but apparently summers in Boston have made me weak.”

Fitz laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. “C’mere, then, I’ll keep you warm.”

Jemma smiled, both at the open affection he was showing her and the fact that he _ was _ indeed warm. “It’s a good thing you’re like a human furnace,” she said. “It really comes in handy sometimes.”

“Yeah, at least I’m good for something,” he teased, and her smile grew. If only he knew all the other things he was good for in her life.

They stood in the midst of the tour group with Janet and Susan, listening to the tour guide talk about the cave. Occupying Germans had used it as an ammunition store during the Second World War, and the cave lost a good number of its stone formations due to the soldiers using them for target practice. More recently, the main room was now used to house concert events due to its near-perfect acoustics, and had even featured a performance by the great opera singer Maria Callas.

“Can you imagine seeing a concert here?” Jemma asked as they made their way to the steps that would lead them up and out of the cave. “Like an orchestra? I bet it would sound gorgeous.”

“Wish I could take you to one,” Fitz said, smiling at her, his eyes soft. It made her heart melt.

“You’re too sweet,” she replied, facing forward to focus on the stairs again.

Back outside, they went to say goodbye to Janet and Susan. “Where are you headed next?” Janet asked.

“We’re going to see Melissani Lake,” Jemma said.

Both Janet and Susan lit up. “Oh, so are we!” Janet exclaimed. “We must have booked the same excursion, except we have to slum it on the bus with everyone else.” She winked, to let them know she was just kidding with them.

“It’s not that long of a ride,” Jemma laughed, taking up Fitz’s hand again. “But yes, we’ll see you there.”

They walked back out to the car park, where they found Dimitri waiting for them in the car. He enthusiastically greeted them and asked for all the details of their trip down into the cave as he got them on the road again, laughing in amusement at the tale of Fitz’s trip down the staircase. The drive to Melissani Lake was a short one, taking them along narrow roads in the valley with beautiful views of the surrounding mountains and through the seaside villages of Sami and Karavomylos. Just outside Karavomylos, Dimitri made a turn and drove up a hill that leveled off into a small car park and one-story building, similar to the one at Drogarati, that probably housed the entrance and a gift shop. Just as before, Dimitri dropped them off with a promise to pick them back up when they were ready to leave.

“Looks like we beat the tour bus,” Jemma said as they walked toward the gift shop, referring to the group that Janet and Susan were with. “We’ll probably have to wait on them to have a large enough group to go through with.”

It wasn’t long before the old bus trundled up the hill and turned into the car park, letting its passengers spill out into the late morning sunshine. Jemma sighted Janet and Susan amongst the crowd and waved them over.

“Should we stick together?” she asked when they were within hearing distance. “They’ll be splitting us up into boats, and it will be nice to have friends along.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea,” Janet said. “We can pictures of each other on the boat.”

Jemma ignored Fitz’s grimace, electing to take his hand in hers again. “Sounds like a fair trade,” she replied cheerily. “Come on, let’s go in so we can get good seats.”

It turned out that the entrance to the cave in which the lake was located was indeed right outside the gift shop, very similar to Drogarati--there was a covered stone staircase next to the outdoor café patio leading down into the ground. Fitz looked at it with some trepidation as the tour group gathered near the top, waiting to go down. 

“Another cave?” he said, sounding betrayed. “I thought you said this was a lake.”

Jemma grinned and leaned into his side, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “It is! But you have to go through a cave to get to it,” she explained. Seeing his eyebrows raise in alarm, she rushed to add, “But this one is a bit different from Drogarati, I promise. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz muttered, but he still went ahead of her down the staircase when it was time for their group to move forward.

She was right, though; it _ was _ different. This staircase was enclosed by stone walls on both sides and led straight down instead of meandering. After a relatively short descent, it opened up into a large, very tall cavern that was very reminiscent of the Chamber of Exaltation at Drogarati: orange stones, slippery floor, stalactites hanging from the walls and ceilings. The room was lit by electric lamps, but there was sunlight visible coming from a wide passage that led away to the left. 

The lake’s waters came inside the cavern, and waiting at the edge were several rowboats. Jemma and Fitz hopped into the first one and grabbed seats next to each other along one side while Janet and Susan sat across from them. Once all of the boats were full, the guides took up the long oars and started steering them towards the passage.

“Feels a bit like we’re on the River Styx, going down into the underworld, doesn’t it?” Fitz commented as they rowed through the gloom. “You know, from Greek mythology.” He looked around them, from the slick rock walls passing by on either side of the boat to the cavern ceiling far above. “The only thing that’s missing is our guide wearing a hooded cloak.”

Jemma laughed quietly, scooting a little closer to him on the wooden bench. “You’re right, it does,” she agreed, and leaned forward to look around him toward where she could see the sunlight that was filtering inside the cavern. “But I think you’ll change your mind in a minute or two.”

She knew she was being cryptic, but she wanted to preserve the surprise for him. They didn’t have long to wait. As the group of boats glided over the water around a large rock fall, the cavern around them opened up into a large, circular lake. High above them, the cavern ceiling had fallen away, exposing the lake to the sky above. Sunlight poured in, shining down on water that was the most brilliant, vivid blue Jemma had ever seen.

“Oh, wow!” Janet gasped. “Isn’t that beautiful?!”

Next to Jemma, Fitz turned to smile at her, his eyes bright, before looking back out at the lake. Warmth suffused her chest; this was as much of a positive endorsement as she might get from him, and it made her feel nice to know that he was pleased with the scenery.

Their guide rowed them slowly around the lake, explaining how the lake had been discovered some three hundred years previously when the land above had collapsed during an earthquake, and that it was fed from an underground current. As he went on to talk about the ancient artifacts that had been found around the site, Jemma took out her phone to take a few pictures of the surrounding rock walls and the unbelievably blue water, still in awe over how striking it was. She could see all the way to the bottom, it was so clear. Even Fitz looked over the side of the boat with interest, trailing a hand through the water, and Jemma snuck a photo of that, too. Privately, she thought it might be one of her favorites.

She took a few pictures for Janet like she had promised, and in return the older woman took a couple of her and Fitz as well. It made her heart flutter to feel his arm go around her, to lean into his side and look up at him to see that he was genuinely smiling for the camera. Janet took a picture of that, too, and the final photo made the butterflies in her chest increase--she was looking at Fitz with an adoring expression on her face, and his own expression as he looked back down at her was incredibly soft. They appeared to be genuinely in love.

After a few circuits around the lake, their guide rowed them to a small dock carved into the side of the rock wall, where they were able to leave the boat and go directly to another staircase that led them up and out of the cave. Jemma could tell Fitz was happy to be back on regular ground, even if he’d enjoyed their trip down to the lake.

They said goodbye to Janet and Susan again and hopped back in the car with Dimitri for the hour-long ride back to port. “What do you think you want to do for the rest of the day?” Fitz asked as they drove back up into the mountains. “Since we have to be back so early.”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know,” Jemma said, leaning back against her seat. “I thought maybe we could relax a bit. I have a mind to try out the jetted tub in our suite. Haven’t really had a chance to do that yet.”

Fitz nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds nice. I mean--for you, obviously I wouldn’t be joining you…” Jemma laughed at the way his face flushed a little pink as he stumbled over his words. “But no, yeah, I think just hanging around for a while would be nice.”

“I’m thinking ahead a bit, too,” Jemma confessed. “You know, we’ll be in Venice in just a few days. That’s the destination I’ve been looking forward to this entire cruise. It’s supposed to be very romantic.”

Fitz tilted his head, his expression turning rather interested, but before he could reply Dimitri spoke from the front of the car. 

“I’ve never been to Venice,” he said. “But many of the people I have driven for have. They all say it’s the most beautiful city in the world, very romantic. Perfect for two people like you.”

Jemma looked back to Fitz at the same time he turned to her, and they both smiled. There was something warm about the way he looked at her, still new and exciting, that made butterflies swirl in her chest again. He _ wanted _ it to be romantic.

“Well,” he said, his eyes still on hers, “we’ll just have to make the most of it.” Then he leaned across the seat to give her a soft, sweet kiss. She practically melted it into it; up front, Dimitri laughed heartily.

-:-

Dimitri dropped them off back at the pier with a cheerful goodbye, making them promise to enjoy Venice. Back onboard the ship, Fitz and Jemma decided to have a late lunch at the poolside grill--it felt like an afternoon for burgers and chips and beer, and it was pleasant sitting in the shade of the elevated deck above them, talking and taking in the view of the Ionian islands.

Once they were back in their suite, it seemed like Jemma was intent on making good on her plans to use the tub. “They’ve got bubble bath,” she said, standing in the doorway to the bathroom and holding up a little plastic bottle. “It’s perfect. I can have a nice long soak and enjoy the bubbles. I might not use the jets, though… don’t want the bubbles getting out of control.”

Fitz, who was already settled on the bed with his shoes and socks off and his tablet in his lap, smiled up at her. “No, can’t have that. I’d hate to have to call housekeeping and tell them there’s a catastrophic bubble explosion in our bathroom.”

Jemma smiled back. “That would be very awkward, yes.” She waggled the bottle at him. “I’ll be out in a while.” 

She turned and went back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Fitz watched her go, still smiling, then busied himself with some design sketches on his tablet. He might be on holiday, but that didn’t necessarily mean he could forget completely about work, and he was feeling particularly inspired. Being happy had that effect.

He heard the water running in the bathroom for awhile, followed by some sounds of mild splashing, then silence. A few minutes later, however, he heard Jemma’s voice call out. “Fitz?”

Frowning, he looked up at the bathroom door before setting his tablet aside and getting up to go around the bed in its direction. He stopped just shy of opening the door, putting his face close to the doorjamb. “Yeah?” he answered.

Another small splash. “Can you do me a really big favor?”

Fitz’s brow crinkled slightly. “Uh, sure.”

There was a slight pause. “Can you bring me a glass of wine? I completely forgot about it until after I got in the bath.”

His eyes went wide as he recoiled back from the door slightly, feeling like his brain had just short-circuited. “Jemma,” he choked out, “you’re--you’re already in the--you’re _ naked_.”

“There’s bubbles!” Jemma’s voice sounded oddly high-pitched and squeaky. “Plenty of bubbles, I’m completely covered up. You won’t see a thing.” Another pause. “Please?”

Fitz sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Did she even know what she was doing, inviting him into a room where she was fully naked and wet? It was torture, that’s what it was. After a minute, he sighed again. “What kind do you want?” he asked through the door. 

“I think I saw a Sangiovese in the wine fridge,” Jemma said. “I’d like to try it.”

“Right,” Fitz replied. “Just a minute.” He turned and went out into the living area, feeling rather more aroused than he felt he had a right to be. At the mini wine fridge, he found the bottle Jemma wanted and uncorked it, pouring her a generous glass. He didn’t know how much she wanted, but figured he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Back at the bathroom door, he opened it slowly and edged inside, not quite sure what he expected to see. But there was Jemma, sitting in the tub modestly covered by a cloud of bubbles, her hair twisted up into a knot on top of her head. Her forehead was creased with slight anxiety, but it smoothed out when she saw him. 

“Oh, thank you so much,” she said, smiling up at him. “No bubble bath is complete without a nice glass of wine to go with it. I should have thought of it before I got in.” She reached out to take the glass from him, and he tried to ignore the way the movement disturbed the water and made the bubbles shift in interesting ways around her chest.

“Eh, it’s no problem,” Fitz mumbled, pretty sure his cheeks were visibly blazing. He needed to leave before other parts of him were noticeably affected as well. “I’m just gonna--” He pointed back toward the door. “Yeah. Have a nice bath.” 

He escaped as quickly as he could back out into the bedroom, but it didn’t do much to erase the sight of Jemma in the tub, her bare shoulders and knees poking out of the bubbles, her wet skin glistening under the overhead light. He tried to focus on sketching out design ideas on his tablet, but it wasn’t much use. All he could think about was the heat of her mouth on his as they’d kissed the previous morning, the feeling of her body beneath his, and the titillating fantasy of going back into the bathroom, stripping off all of his clothes, and climbing into the tub with her. He had the feeling she wouldn’t object.

He wanted to be better than some randy teenager who did nothing except think of his maybe-girlfriend naked all the time, though, so he persevered in working on his sketches. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally heard the sound of water draining from the tub, but he prepared himself to see Jemma come out in nothing but her bathrobe. He’d have to keep a lid on his attraction to her.

Thankfully, when she did emerge, she was fully dressed in skinny jeans and a light tee, her hair still up in its knot. She smiled as she came into the bedroom, and immediately flopped onto the bed next to him.

“I love hot baths,” she said, looking up at him, “but they always leave you with that cooked noodle feeling. I’m so sleepy now.”

Fitz grinned down at her. “I take it this means you’re not wanting to go out and do anything? Time for a nap, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Jemma stretched, pointing her toes and arching her back a bit, before relaxing against the mattress again. “There’s a part of me that feels like we need to make the most of every minute of this holiday, but at the same time… it’s a _ holiday _. We’ve been going non-stop. We should have at least one opportunity to stop and rest and do absolutely nothing if we want to.”

“If we want to,” Fitz echoed, his smile widening. Personally, he thought lazing about and napping for the afternoon sounded perfect, especially if Jemma would let him snuggle up next to her. His wish was granted when she tugged on his shirtsleeve.

“Come here,” she said, her warm brown eyes inviting. “We _ should _ take a nap.”

Feeling a twitch of excitement that he immediately tried to tame, Fitz set his tablet aside on the nightstand and turned back to her, shuffling down on the mattress until his head was on his pillow and he could open his arms to her. Jemma immediately cuddled up to his side, resting her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. “There,” he murmured, settling his arms around her. “Now we can take a nap.”

“Perfect,” Jemma sighed, and he felt her entire body relax against his.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and closed his eyes, letting himself bask in the warmth of her body pressed to his and the faint lingering scent of her bubble bath. He had absolutely no clue how he was going to maintain this once their holiday was through--he didn’t know how he’d be able to keep her close like this once they were away from the magic of the Mediterranean and back to the routine of their daily lives. Jemma had never kept a boyfriend for very long. She always got bored very quickly. He couldn’t think of why he would be any different from all of those other men.

But he desperately wanted to be.

-:-

When he opened his eyes again, the sunlight coming in through the balcony doors had changed significantly and Jemma was poking him. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said affectionately. “If you don’t get up now, you’ll throw off your whole rhythm and you won’t be able to sleep later tonight.”

“Is that a dare?” he grumbled, rolling onto his back. 

“It’s a promise,” she said, already sitting up. “I won’t have you tossing and turning on me all night.”

Fitz stretched before pushing to sit up as well. “Joke’s on you,” he said amiably, his voice cracking on a yawn. “I can fall asleep anywhere, any time.”

Jemma smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Still, I don’t want us to sleep the whole night away. It’s time for dinner.”

That perked him up--both the kiss and the mention of food. “Now you have my attention,” he said. “Anywhere in particular you feel like eating?”

Jemma had stood from the bed and walked around to his side, reaching out for his hands to tug him up. “I thought we could stay in again and take advantage of the excellent room service,” she replied as he got to his feet. “But maybe eat out on the balcony? I think it would be nice. We haven’t really used it much yet.”

“You’re right, we haven’t.” Fitz used her grip on his hands to pull her in close to him, then let go to wrap an arm around her. “Yeah, dinner on the balcony would be nice. Just as long as I sit by the wall. Are you trying to be romantic?”

Jemma had the grace to blush. “Maybe,” she admitted, ducking her head as her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “But the weather’s so nice and the sunset looks gorgeous… and you can see the coast and everything. And we have this beautiful suite.” She gestured widely at the room around them before looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “It _ is _ romantic.”

A slow smile spread over his face. She looked so beautiful, even a little rumpled from sleep with messy hair, and the way she was smiling at him lit up her entire face with warmth. She was irresistible. “Alright, I’ll give you that,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her, soft and sweet. Her hands immediately came up to cup his jaw as she pressed back into him, and for an endless minute they traded eager yet tender kisses. It was Jemma who pulled back first.

“If I don’t stop, we’ll never get dinner ordered,” she said, sounding a little breathless. But she was smiling and her eyes were shining, and it left Fitz with a feeling of pure happiness as she turned away to go into the living area and pick up the phone to place their dinner order.

Fitz asked for another steak, this time with fries, while Jemma ordered a chopped salad. Harry was as gracious and upbeat as always when he arrived with their food, though there was a certain flourish in his movements and sparkle to his eyes that gave Fitz the impression the other man could tell something had changed between him and Jemma. Maybe it was the balcony. They’d agreed it was romantic, after all.

Once they’d tucked into their food, Fitz had to admit that it really was pretty damn romantic. The sunset was casting rays of brilliant red and gold over the sea, and the view of the coastline as the ship sailed parallel to it was beautiful. He found that as long as he stayed in his seat close to the open doors, the height of their balcony didn’t bother him very much.

They stuck to their usual topics of conversation over dinner--current science trends, work gossip, things they’d watched on telly, everything Jemma was looking forward to in Venice at the end of their trip. By the time they were through, Fitz was feeling full enough for another nap, or perhaps an early night in bed, but Jemma had other ideas.

“Let’s dance,” she said after they came back from setting their empty dishes out in the hall for Harry to collect later.

Fitz made a face. “Really? After that horrible attempt a few days ago and all the other times I’ve told you I don’t dance?”

Jemma nodded, looking eager. “We were drunk that night! We’ll do much better this time.” She held her hands out to him.

He folded his arms and stared at her. “I’m not convinced you’re not drunk right now,” he said. “You’ve had a lot of wine today.”

She laughed. “I may be a little tipsy, yes, but I’m not drunk. Come on.” She waggled her hands at him. “I won’t even make you try to waltz, we’ll just… slow dance.” She nodded once, firmly, like her heart was set on it. “Yes, that’ll work.”

Fitz leveled her with a long-suffering look, but gave her his hand anyway; it was hard to deny the little skip in his heart at the thought of holding her close again. Jemma smiled brilliantly at him and pulled him to the bedroom, where she picked her phone up off the nightstand on her side.

“Right,” she said, leading him back into the living area as she thumbed across the screen of her phone one-handed. “I’ve got to get some music for us.” Fitz watched patiently as she scrolled through her streaming music app; a minute later the strains of some slow, jazzy-sounding tune came forth from the phone. “There we go,” she murmured, and stretched to set it down on the table before straightening back up and smiling at him again. “Now we can dance.”

She was looking at him expectantly, so Fitz took her by the hand, carefully wrapping his other arm low around her waist, and pulled her into him. Jemma came forward with a sigh, resting her cheek on his shoulder and turning her face into his neck as he guided her into a slow sway to the beat of the music. 

At first he felt tense, unused to dancing with someone, but the easy rhythm of the song and the way Jemma felt so relaxed in his arms helped him to let go and relax too. After a moment he let his own cheek rest on top of her head as he pulled her just a little closer.

“You still won’t get me to dance with you at the disco,” he said quietly into her hair.

“I’m not trying to,” she replied, sounding utterly content, and wrapped her arm more firmly around his shoulder.

They turned a few more circles in peaceful silence, listening to the warbling of the music, and Fitz had the thought that this must be paradise. Holding Jemma close, slowly dancing in a darkened room lit only by the dying embers of the sun’s light, the doors open to the warm sea breeze… it was perfect. For him, anyway. He wanted to take the moment and bottle it, to preserve it so he could remember every beautiful second long after the night was done.

Once again, the thought passed through his mind that he didn’t know how the hell he was going to keep Jemma’s interest once they returned home. How could he hope to? She was radiant, a bright shining star, and he was just Fitz--not much of anything at all.


	14. Kotor

Wakefulness came in stages--sunlight on her eyelids, the softness of her pillow beneath her cheek, the sensation of being wrapped in warmth. Caught in the liminal space between being asleep and awake, Jemma wondered if waking up beside Fitz would always be this pleasant. They still needed to talk things out, but right now wasn't the time to worry about that. Now, she blinked her eyes open to take in the pale golden morning light coming in through the windows and smiled at how warm and comfortable she was. 

They'd shifted in their sleep during the night; she was on her side facing out toward the living area, and Fitz was spooned against her back, his arm wrapped over her waist. He must have followed her when she'd rolled away. The thought was sweet, that he still wanted to be close to her even in his subconscious. She welcomed it. She could get used to waking up like this.

Jemma stretched a little, taking care not to disturb Fitz, but he still stirred behind her, tightening his arm around her waist. "Jemma?" he mumbled, his voice scratchy with sleep. "It's early. Don't get up yet."

She smiled as she let him pull her closer, settling in against his chest while their feet tangled. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she quietly told him. "We still have some time before the alarm."

"Good." She could feel Fitz duck his face against her back, his nose pressing into her shoulder blade and his hair tickling her neck. Then he shifted again and she felt the warm press of his lips on her skin, soft and light, right where his nose had just been above the thin fabric of her camisole. Jemma’s stomach swooped at the sensation, even more so when he placed another kiss next to the first.

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. The air noticeably changed between them, becoming more and more charged as he continued to press slow kisses to her bare skin. Jemma let her eyes flutter shut, feeling like every single one of her nerves was standing on end just waiting for another kiss. She desperately wanted his hand to seek her out and touch her instead of remaining firmly splayed over her stomach, but Fitz seemed much more interested in holding her close as his mouth wandered. When he made it to the join of her shoulder and neck and placed a suckling, open-mouthed kiss there, Jemma let out a soft gasp as a bolt of wanting shot straight to her gut.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Any worries about morning breath nonexistent, she rolled back into Fitz’s chest. He seemed to anticipate this, because he immediately made room for her and before she was even on her back, he was moving to meet her as she reached up to pull him into a hard, scorching kiss.

Jemma moaned quietly as their tongues met, sliding her hands into Fitz’s hair to keep him close. In the moment, it was hard to think of anything hotter than this: a sleepy, early-morning snog in bed, with an underlying current of so much more. Had Fitz always wanted to kiss her this way--slow and deep, like he wanted to memorize her? His attention was a revelation, and addictive. It made her forget all about itineraries and places to see and anything else outside of their bedroom.

When the need for air forced them apart, Fitz trailed kisses down her throat again, lingering at her pulse point. It made her breath skip and her heart race, desire burning bright in her veins. Then he moved further, pressing a line of hot kisses down onto her chest, and Jemma thought she might stop breathing altogether. The tease of his lips skimming along the top of her camisole, just over the upper swell of her breasts, set her on fire and left her positively aching for him. "Fitz," she whispered, unable to help sighing his name as she clenched her fingers in his hair, encouraging him to be bolder.

But the shrill tones of her phone alarm cut through the room before he could react, startling them both. Fitz flinched hard and immediately rolled away from her, while Jemma instinctively moved to slap at her phone, silencing it.

Then they both laid still, breathing hard, lying on their backs and staring up at the ceiling.

Jemma’s first thought was to roll back to Fitz and kiss him, to get them back to where they’d been so rudely cut off--but one look at him killed that thought. He had an arm thrown across his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut, his cheeks visibly flushed. He didn’t look like he was in any sort of mood for more kissing at all

She sighed quietly, pushing down the desire still thrumming through her, and shifted closer to him. When she was near enough, she placed a light hand on his chest and a careful kiss to his arm. “I’m going to go get in the shower,” she said quietly. She pretended that she didn’t hear his soft intake of breath at the touch of her lips.

In the bathroom, Jemma stared at the shower as she got undressed. It struck her that the stall was plenty big enough for two people to fit in comfortably, and perhaps--maybe--she could go ask Fitz to join her. It was a daring thought, one that sent a shiver down her spine, and she thought he might actually be open to the suggestion. Well, the part of him that didn’t think with his brain would be, anyway. She reminded herself of how awkward and almost embarrassed he’d looked out on the bed and reconsidered. Propositioning him for what would doubtlessly lead to shower sex might be moving a bit too fast.

Jemma sighed again and stepped into the stall to twist the taps and let the water heat up. At least she had the rainfall showerhead to enjoy. It was a luxury she was going to miss once the cruise was over.

-:-

They decided to have breakfast in their suite again, taking advantage of the privacy and Harry’s excellent service. He opened the balcony doors for them to let the warm sea breeze in, which definitely helped to lighten the mood. The atmosphere felt much like it had after their first aborted snog: half-heartedly avoiding each other’s gazes, blushing when their eyes met, looking away when their stares got too heated. But there were little smiles this time, exchanged over their pancakes like a secret only they knew. It gave Jemma hope. It felt more like their friendship than the awkward silence of before had, and there was a light in Fitz’s eyes that she wanted to make sure always stayed there. They could be wonderful together, she just knew it. They _ were _ wonderful.

She almost worked up the courage to talk to him about their shifting relationship._ Almost_. The mood finally seemed right for it, and the words were on the tip of her tongue. But Fitz spoke up before she could, asking her about their schedule for the day, and then changing the subject back to them just felt weird.

So Jemma shelved the subject away in her mind for another time. She would get to it. They had another early evening back on the boat; perhaps they could talk about it over dinner.

-:-

“So where are you two kids headed today?” Janet asked, adjusting her sunglasses in the bright morning sunshine. Beside her, Jemma saw Fitz bristle, likely at being called kids, but he had to remember that they were in the same age range as Janet’s granddaughter. Of course they’d be kids to her.

“Eh, mostly just a lot of driving, I think,” he told her. “We’re going up to a little village in the mountains to see how food is made there.”

Jemma smiled to herself at how unenthusiastic Fitz sounded about their itinerary. He’d put on a good show in their suite, but now that they were about to leave, it was clear he wasn’t that excited. Even Janet picked up on it.

“Not as fun as Rome or Athens, is it?” she teased. Fitz shrugged. “Well, I hear the scenery around here is supposed to be absolutely beautiful,” she added.

“There weren’t that many excursions to pick from,” Jemma said. “And while I suppose I could have put something together for us on my own, I thought it would be nice to get away from the port and explore the countryside a bit. The excursions on offer made that a lot easier.” She leaned into Fitz’s side and gently nudged him with her elbow. “I thought you’d be leading the way up the mountain yourself, considering the village is known for its prosciutto and cheese.”

Fitz looked at her sharply, his eyes wide. “Prosciutto?” he demanded. “You didn’t say anything about _ that. _”

Jemma just grinned at him. “I thought it could be a surprise of sorts, but you looked like you needed some encouragement.”

Janet was watching the two of them, smiling. “What’s prosciutto?” she asked.

“It’s a special type of ham,” Jemma explained. “Sliced very thin, it’s excellent on a sandwich.”

“The _ best _ sandwich,” Fitz added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “She makes it for me sometimes at home, with buffalo mozzarella and this pesto aioli she came up with all on her own. It is--” He gave the signal for _ perfection _ with his free hand. “The absolute best.”

Janet nodded approvingly. “Hopefully you’ll get to try some while you’re there.”

Jemma leaned her head on Fitz’s shoulder and beamed. “The excursion info did say something about a tasting, so I think we’re in luck.”

Fitz pumped his free hand in a fist of victory. “_Awesome_.”

They went their separate ways when the bus arrived--Janet was taking a boat tour of the bay, and told Fitz before they left that she hoped he enjoyed the prosciutto. He boarded the bus in high spirits, looking much more ready to go than he had been just a short while previously. He let Jemma have the window seat, and after the bus got going they both looked out the windows in interest as they drove through the village that surrounded the Old Town of Kotor, staring up at the towering mountains that surrounded them.

As the road they were on began to wind up into those mountains, Jemma took out her phone so she could take pictures of the beautiful views the height afforded of the bay. Next to her, Fitz slunk down in his seat a bit. She knew the hairpin turns and steep drops were tugging uncomfortably at his fear of heights, so when she wasn’t busy tapping at the camera app on her phone, she rested a comforting hand on his knee. After a while, he covered her hand with his. It made Jemma smile privately, these little things--gestures a boyfriend or girlfriend would do, that weren’t necessary without Janet around, but they both still wanted to do. She was thankful to the older woman, in a way. WIthout her nosiness, she and Fitz might never have taken these steps forward in their relationship.

Eventually they crested the top of the mountain ridge and the road even out onto more level ground. Fitz sat back up in his seat. After that it was only a short ride to their destination, the tiny village of Njeguši. As they exited their small bus, Jemma took a deep breath of the mountain air, looking around at the village’s clusters of light stone buildings with red-tile roofs, which seemed to be typical of the region.

Their guide came to greet them, then led them on a tour of the village. She explained that it was indeed very tiny, with only a little over thirty full-time residents, but was renowned for its folk architecture and the _ Njeguški pršut _ and _ Njeguški sir_, or prosciutto and cheese, that they made. Jemma held Fitz’s hand as they walked with their group down a lane bordered by a low stone wall admiring the village’s small, unassuming church, and kept hold as their guide took them through the stone huts where the hams were strung up to be smoked and cured.

“I didn’t think so much went into making it,” Fitz said later. They were sitting at a table on the covered front patio of Njeguši’s inn, sharing a platter of the infamous prosciutto and cheese along with bread and some local brandy. The father and son who had brought it out to them had been very amused to learn that Fitz was already a fan of prosciutto, and subsequently delighted when he tried theirs and loved it. 

He held up a piece of bread, on which he’d layered some of the finely-sliced meat and a bit of cheese. “It stays in the smokehouse for _ months_. Amazing that it takes that long.” He looked at her across the table. “Do you think the stuff we get at home is this fancy?”

Jemma shrugged, smiling as she took a sip of her brandy. “It would explain why it’s so expensive. That’s why I save it for special occasions or a treat.”

Fitz bit into it and looked thoughtful for a moment as he chewed. After he swallowed, he grinned and shook his head. “I hate to say it, Jemma, but this is actually better than yours. Spread some of your aioli on it though, and I’d be in heaven.”

She laughed. “I _ hope _ you think it’s better than what I make for you. This is a national delicacy.” She picked up her own little half-sandwich and had a bite. “It’s too bad we can’t bring any home with us,” she added once she’d swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s a shame,” Fitz said. “But now I can tease you. I can ask when you’re going to import the really good stuff for me.”

Jemma kicked at his foot beneath the table. “Ooh, you’re rotten,” she grumbled, which only made him grin wider.

Once their group was done with the sampler platter presentation, they all climbed back aboard the bus for the ride to Cetinje, the old capital of Montenegro. They had to travel over precarious roads again, and Fitz pretended to take a nap for the duration. Jemma only nudged him back to alertness when they were on the outskirts of the city.

Their guide told them a bit about the city’s history as they drove down one of its main thoroughfares, passing beautiful old Victorian homes that had once been foreign consulates until they reached a stately-looking brown sandstone building that was almost as long as a city block. Their guide welcomed them to the National Museum of Montenegro and encouraged them to go inside and look at all of the exhibits.

Jemma was perfectly happy to browse the museum’s offerings, taking in the displays on Montenegro’s history, culture, and the arts, but it seemed that Fitz had different plans. He stayed close to her, wrapping his hand around hers and sneaking kisses whenever he could--soft brushes of his lips against her temple or her cheek, sometimes her forehead, even the back of her hand. She wanted to be dignified and responsible and tell him to cut it out, but the truth was that she was enjoying herself too much. She loved the way he’d get his arm around her shoulders as they studied a display, or wrap both arms around her from behind, setting his chin on her shoulder. It felt a bit like they were teenagers sneaking around, which was exciting in a way she couldn’t quite quantify. She knew they had both missed out on a large part of their childhoods due to their advanced intellect and being moved through school so quickly--maybe this was a way of reclaiming some of it back.

By the time they left the museum a little over an hour later, Jemma was buzzing with happiness. She immediately cuddled up against Fitz’s side on the bus, wriggling beneath his arm, and sighed happily when he adjusted to hold her more comfortably to him.

It was a long ride back to Kotor--about an hour--and they were roughly halfway through it when Jemma reached up to tug on Fitz’s hand curled around her shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “You should look out the window.”

Fitz barely glanced up from his phone in his lap. “Hmm, don’t think so.”

“No, really.” She tightened her fingers around his hand. “I know the drive up here spooked you, but this isn’t nearly as bad.” She tugged again. “Please? The view is beautiful, you’ll be sad you missed it.”

Fitz sighed, then appeared to steel himself before looking past her out the bus window. She saw his throat bob once, likely because they were driving right next to the guardrail at the edge of the road, but then a small smile ticked up the corners of his mouth. “You’re right, that is beautiful,” he said.

Jemma smiled at him, pleased that he liked the view, before turning to look with him. There was a sharp drop off the side of the road, and below it the mountain rambled down to the azure coast where a few small towns and villages were visible dotting the shore. Underneath a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds, it was breathtaking.

Fitz leaned his head against hers as they continued on the road sloping down the mountain, and Jemma laced her fingers through his, feeling supremely content. “I think that’s the town of Budva,” she commented after awhile, pointing to the largest group of buildings below them on the coast. “It’s considered its own little Riviera, or the Riviera of the Adriatic. Lord Byron described it as being ‘the most beautiful meeting of mountains and sea that I have ever seen.’”

She could feel Fitz smile against her head. “Read all of that in the pamphlet, did you?” he teased gently. 

“On the excursion booking site, yes,” she replied. She squeezed his hand again. “You know I have an eidetic memory. I keep all of these things saved up just for instances like this.”

“And I do appreciate it,” he said, squeezing back. “You’re better than any tour guide.”

A pleased flush rolled through her. “That’s not true,” she countered humbly. “I don’t live here, I’m not intimately familiar with all of the history and customs of the places we visit. I’m just rattling off facts.”

“But they’re good facts.” Fitz pressed a kiss to her hair. “I do appreciate all the work you put into this holiday, even though you didn’t have to. It’s made it really--special.”

Another spot of warmth bloomed in her chest. Maybe he meant _ them _, that their newfound closeness was special. She very much hoped he did.

As they reached the bottom of the mountain and entered the outskirts of the town, their guide at the front of the bus started lecturing on the history of the region, repeating most of the things Jemma had already told Fitz. She tilted her head back to look up at him and smile. He just smiled back, his eyes crinkling with fondness, and kissed her forehead.

She had to agree with the moniker of ‘Budva Riviera’; the town looked much more modern than Cetinje, and hotels, expensive shops, and small casinos dotted the main road that they drove along. It was a bit reminiscent of Monaco, just less glitzy. 

Eventually they left the town behind, going back into the hills and crossing the countryside to finish the journey to Kotor. Fitz really did settle in for a short nap then, and Jemma found it hard not to follow him. She was about as comfortable as she could get on the old bus, snuggled into his side, and the drone of the motor coupled with the heat of the sun coming in the windows made her sleepy. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing to close her eyes for a few minutes.

She opened her eyes again when the sunlight disappeared behind her eyelids. They were driving through a long, dark tunnel that she supposed ran beneath a hill or a mountain somewhere. Fitz stirred next to her, sitting up a bit straighter on their seat, and looked around just as a light appeared on the other end. The tunnel deposited them right on the outskirts of Kotor, and the bus drove them right up to the wall that surrounded the Old Town on a palm tree-lined street that ran directly to the port where their ship was docked.

They had some free time once they were off the bus, so Jemma and Fitz decided it was lunchtime, helped along by Fitz’s loudly growling stomach. Fitz picked the first restaurant they came across in the Old Town; fortunately, it was well-priced and had an appetizing menu.

Once they were seated and had ordered wine and the most artfully-presented caprese salad Jemma had ever seen, she took a moment to relax. “I can’t believe we only have today and tomorrow left on the ship,” she said, sipping her wine. “It’s almost over.”

“Oh, I know.” Fitz cut into a slice of tomato and mozzarella on his plate and speared it with his fork. “It feels like we just started yesterday. But also, it feels like it’s been forever. Yeah?” When Jemma nodded, he added, “But I think this is the best way to do it. We’re already doing so much as it is. A shorter cruise would have felt too crammed-in and rushed.”

Jemma nodded thoughtfully as she forked some of the salad onto her own plate, making sure to get some of the basil along with it. “I think, ideally--if I could create my perfect cruise--it would still be just as long as this one, but we’d spend a couple of days at each stop, with fewer stops overall. That way, we could take our time and really explore.”

Grinning as he swallowed another bite of tomato, Fitz said, “Doesn’t that beat the point of going on a cruise, though? If you don’t actually sail all that much?”

“You may have a point.” Jemma smiled back as she cut her tomato and mozzarella into manageable pieces. “Maybe we should consider some type of journey by train next. We could pick where we want to go and stay as long as we like at each stop.”

“And since you like planning so much, sorting that out would be right up your alley.” Fitz’s eyes were sparkling, his expression hopeful. “So what I’m hearing from you is that you’d like to do another holiday sometime?”

A rush of affection for him hit her. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

After they finished their lunch--tuna steak for Fitz, stuffed squid for Jemma--they ventured back out into the Old Town to do some proper exploring. Armed with all of the information she had researched on the town and with her GPS to guide them, Jemma slid into her role of tour guide and happily rattled off everything she’d learned about the medieval town.

As they walked, she told him all about how Kotor had been designated a cultural UNESCO World Heritage site and how the organization had contributed to rebuilding and restoration efforts after an earthquake in 1979 had seriously damaged the town’s old buildings and monuments. They visited the lovely Cathedral of Saint Tryphon, a pale stone church that dated back to the 12th century, and discussed the simplistic beauty of its interior compared to some of the other cathedrals they’d visited so far on their trip. They also took a turn through the Grgurina Palace, a large home which housed the Maritime Museum. Spending a while walking through the exhibits was pleasant; Fitz told her about the different types of weapons and model ships they had on display. Then they simply walked the streets hand-in-hand, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and the architecture, so different to anything they could see back home.

The entire time, Fitz stayed just as close as he had at the museum in Cetinje, once again sneaking in kisses and hugs whenever he could. It left Jemma feeling exhilarated, almost tipsy on his attention. It was so unlike him--not that Fitz was always a prickly grump, but she never would have anticipated him being so sweet and affectionate with a girlfriend.

By the time they got back to their suite on the ship late in the afternoon, she’d had enough. As soon as they were in the living area and she’d set her bag down next to the sofa, she attacked him, spinning him to her and capturing his mouth in a passionate kiss.

He made a noise of surprise but immediately pressed back into it, his arms coming around her waist to hold her close. When they finally broke apart, he looked a little breathless. “What was that for?” he asked.

“For teasing me!”

His jaw comically dropped open. “Teasing?” he cried. “I have not--”

“You have!” Jemma bounced once on her toes. “All day, all those little kisses and everything, it was driving me mad!”

“I--it wasn’t _ teasing_.” Fitz’s expression morphed into a bashful grin. “I just--I wanted to be nice. You deserve it.”

That was it. He was too much. Pressing her hands flat to his chest, Jemma started pushing him back toward the bed. “I’ll show you nice,” she said.

She swore she saw his pupils dilate. “Oh?” he croaked. His legs hit the side of the bed and he stumbled, sitting down heavily on the edge. She encouraged him to back up fully onto the mattress, where she straddled his hips.

“I said I’d show you,” she repeated, and leaned down to kiss him again, hungry and hot.

Fitz was just as responsive as ever, groaning into her mouth as his hands gripped her hips. It gave Jemma a rush unlike anything else to be with him like this, to feel his desire evident in the way he tugged at her and kissed her, his mouth greedily chasing hers. She wanted to burn up inside his arms, and was set on doing just that when a low rumble sounded between them. She pulled back, pushing up on her hands to look down at him.

“Was that you?” she asked.

Fitz made a face. “No, don’t think so.” 

“Well, it wasn’t me.”

He shrugged and reached up to cup the back of her head to draw her down for more kisses, but another rumble erupted from his stomach, stopping him in his tracks. Jemma laughed.

“Hey!” Fitz said hotly. “No laughing! I’m trying to kiss you here--” Yet another rumble issued forth and Jemma laughed again, sitting up straight astride him and covering her mouth to try and stifle her giggles. He let his hand fall limply back to the mattress in defeat. “It’s not funny,” he muttered. “The kissing was very important.”

“I just can’t believe you’re already hungry again,” Jemma said from behind her hand, trying and failing to contain her mirth. “We didn’t have lunch all that long ago!”

“Yeah, well.” Fitz looked thoroughly put out, which was very amusing considering she was still straddling him. “Fast metabolism and all that.”

A quieter, half-hearted sort of gurgle rose from his stomach, and Jemma poked it. “Admit it. It’s funny.”

After a pause, a small smile spread over his face. “Yeah, it kinda is,” he admitted, resting his hands on her knees.

She grinned brightly down at him. “Let’s see what we can do it about, then.”

-:-

They decided to try the French bistro for dinner, ending up at a cozy table for two tucked away in a back corner of the dining room. Fitz thought the art nouveau decor was a little over the top, but he supposed that was only to be expected with theme restaurants on a cruise ship. The food was excellent, though, which was no surprise due to the excellent service they’d received over the past two weeks. Fitz ordered another steak, which Jemma teased him for, but he insisted that it was different because the bearnaise sauce made it _ French_. She chose roasted herb lamb and potatoes, which Fitz thought looked rather tasty, but he was happy with his steak.

“So what do you think you want to do for the rest of the night?” he asked as they ate. “Since we only have two more on the ship.”

Jemma pursed her lips thoughtfully as she chewed on a bite of lamb, then gave him a hopeful look. “I’d actually like to try going to one of the discos again,” she said. “Properly, this time. Dressed up, with drinks and dancing and everything.”

Fitz made a face that was decidedly more sour than hers. “Really? You _ know _ that’s not my thing. And I’m not good at--at that sort of dancing.” Even if it did interest him in an abstract way, being pressed that close to her on a dance floor. 

“Ugh, Fitz, _ really_.” Jemma took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “This is our adventure holiday! We’re supposed to push our boundaries and live a little, try things we’ve never done before.”

Fitz gave her a bemused smile, unable to resist teasing her. “I thought the point of all this was to experience the Tony Stark lifestyle.”

She kicked at his foot beneath the table. “Fitz. I want to do something we’ve never done before together. We’ve never gone clubbing. It could be fun!” When he still didn’t look convinced, she added, “If you don’t like it, we can leave and just watch telly in our suite or something.” Then she paused. “Though it would be a sad waste of the dress I brought just for the occasion.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow. _ A clubbing dress? _ “You packed a clubbing dress?” he asked.

She nodded. “You know how I like to be prepared. I brought one just in case.”

He toyed with the stem of his wine glass, visions of miniskirts dancing through his head. “Um, what does it look like?”

Jemma’s smile turned sly. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Fitz gulped.

He could have been accused of rushing through the rest of his dinner, curious to know what Jemma’s mysterious dress looked like. It was only fair, he thought. All of the dresses she owned--that he’d seen--were fairly conservative, even the ones she wore out on dates with other men. The thought of her possessing something a little more daring was actually a bit exciting, if it meant he got to see it.

Once they returned to their suite after dinner, Jemma disappeared into the bathroom, saying she wanted to wash her face and do her makeup. Fitz picked out some clothes from the closet before retreating to the bedroom to change, leaving the door between them closed. He thought Jemma might like a little privacy going from the bathroom to the closet to change, if she wanted to keep her dress a surprise.

His own outfit was nothing special--the same pale blue dress shirt and charcoal trousers he’d worn when they’d gone to the teppanyaki grill. He’d only packed the one nice ensemble, thinking he might not even have a chance to wear it once. But he hadn’t anticipated the change in his relationship with Jemma, or how it would afford him the opportunity to dress well. He never could have foreseen it. Here he was, though. He just hoped she wouldn’t mind a repeat outfit.

He rolled his sleeves up and left the top button undone. Jemma had seemed to like that before.

Eventually he heard her bumping around in the closet and finally, at long last, the door to the bedroom opened. Fitz stood from his seat on the end of the bed, eager to see how she looked--and then his jaw dropped.

Jemma was wearing a quintessential little black dress--a form-fitting number that hugged her every curve, with a low-cut bustline and a skirt that ended well above her knees, along with barely-there straps that meant she couldn’t possibly be wearing a bra underneath. Her strappy black heels were relatively tame, but the dress more than made up for it. He’d never seen her look like this. She was drop-dead gorgeous and he couldn’t get his brain to work.

“Bloody hell,” he croaked.

Jemma’s expression was hovering somewhere between pleased and uncharacteristically shy. “Is that a good ‘bloody hell’?” she asked, taking a step towards him.

He nodded, waiting for his mouth to catch up. “Yeah. Yes,” he managed. He nodded at her dress. “How long have you had this?”

Her smile grew a little more confident. “I bought it specially for this trip.”

Fitz’s brain shut down even more. Had she bought that dress with him in mind? Or for any man who might have happened to catch her eye? He blinked--it didn’t matter. She was wearing it for him now and he couldn’t believe his luck. 

“You look incredible,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. She’d done something different with her makeup, too: a subtle smoky effect around her eyes that made them pop. “Everyone won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

Jemma ducked her head slightly, looking a little shy again, and squeezed his hand. “Hopefully just you,” she murmured.

His gut clenched, a flare of desire arcing through him. “Absolutely,” he told her. _ Definitely. _

-:-

They chose a different lounge to try out than the one they’d gone to a few nights previously. But it felt the same to Fitz--dark, crowded, and loud. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure he had made the right decision in allowing Jemma to drag him in, but as she led him by the hand to the bar and his gaze dropped to her arse, he thought maybe he could suffer gladly through it if it meant he could appreciate how beautiful she looked.

“Drink first, or dance first?” she asked him once they reached the bar, pressing her lips to his ear so he could hear her over the thumping of the music. The soft warmth of their touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“Drink,” he replied, turning his mouth toward her own ear. “Definitely drink. I’m gonna need it if I’m going to do any of that.” He pointed toward the throng on the dance floor, exuberantly moving to the beat of the music.

Jemma leaned back from him so he could see her grin, and nodded. “I know just the thing,” she said.

It wasn’t long before Fitz had a whiskey sour in his hand and Jemma her favored gin and tonic, and then when those disappeared they just kept coming. That was the thing about the premium VIP package Pepper Potts had graced them with, he thought as he started on his third drink. Unlimited alcohol. What a blessing. They’d already used it to their advantage on his birthday, and it was coming in handy again now.

Eventually the room around them turned a little hazy, gently blurred at the edges, and the music almost seemed far-off while at the same time drumming in his head to the beat of his pulse. Jemma was leaning forward over their small table, her drink glass dangling dangerously from her hand, and the way her chest pressed against her forearm was doing interesting things to her cleavage. He kept having to blink and refocus his eyes somewhere else as they talked, lest she realize he was staring and think him a pervert.

“Are you ready for dancing yet?” she asked him, finally setting her glass down. 

“I,” Fitz said, dragging the syllable out as he looked up at the ceiling, “am maybe ready for dancing.” He looked back down at his half-finished whiskey and frowned. “What number is this now?”

Jemma laughed. “I don’t know. I lost count.” She reached across the table to poke at his arm. “But I’m sure it’s plenty enough to get you all--loose and easy breezy lemon squeezy.”

Fitz snorted, hard. “What?!”

She rolled her eyes and stood, stumbling slightly as she pushed her chair back. “It’s dancing time,” she said firmly. “No arguing, Fitzopold. Come on.” Walking over to his side of the table, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to standing as well.

“But I don’t know how,” he whined as she led him to the dance floor. “Not like this. I’ll just look like--a squid flopping my tentacles around or something. Not very sexy at all.”

“It’ll be easy!” Jemma reassured him as she found them a spot. “Just follow my lead. You’ll be a very, very sexy squid.”

And then she turned away from him and began dancing to the music, an enticing sort of sway that involved her hips moving while she held her hands above her head. Fitz just stood and stared, utterly gobsmacked at seeing this version of his best friend who he’d never known existed. She moved so confidently, like she had done this dozens of times before. Was it just the alcohol? He didn’t care. He could watch her do this, mesmerized, all night.

She looked over her shoulder at him, interrupting his reverie. “Dance, Fitzy!” she cheerfully called back at him. “Hands on my hips!”

Fitz dropped his eyes back to her hips and swore under his breath, feeling his hands go clammy. Well--there was nothing else for it except to dive in and hope he didn’t humiliate himself, and her, in the process.

Following her instructions, he stepped in right behind her as she continued to dance and settled his hands low on her hips, then attempted to mimic her easy sway. At first, he really did feel like a very unsexy squid, or perhaps an octopus: all awkward and ungainly and uncoordinated movements compared to Jemma’s grace. For a few minutes he swore he could feel everyone’s eyes on them, Jemma in her little black dress and him trying and failing to be anything approaching cool. But then by some miracle--or maybe just the alcohol--Fitz found himself gradually relaxing into it. And once it felt like they had found their rhythm, it became downright erotic.

He’d never experienced anything else like it. Being with Jemma, holding her close in a dark, crowded room and dancing intimately to some bass-heavy EDM track, gave him an adrenaline rush that sent his heartbeat racing and his pulse pounding in his ears. When she reached blindly back to brush one hand over his cheek, curling her fingers around the back of his neck, it gave him the courage to slide his own hand around her waist to her stomach, pulling her flush against him. There was no way she couldn’t feel the raging hard-on he had, not as close as that, but she hadn’t slapped him yet. If anything, she just ground back against him even more insistently, making him thankful for volume of the music--it meant his answering groan was lost in her hair.

Soon Fitz had stopped worrying about everyone else completely; all that mattered was Jemma and the siren song of her touch, leading him down to the doom of his heartbreak when this cruise ended and she inevitably lost interest in him and wanted to go back to the status quo.

-:-

The door to their suite burst open, bouncing off the adjacent wall, and Fitz and Jemma fell through, both giggling madly. Fitz nearly tripped over his own feet but Jemma caught him, pulling him up and pinning him to the wall, where she pressed in to kiss him, messy and passionate. Fitz, still laughing against her mouth, wound one arm around her to haul her closer, while reaching out with the other for the door. Eventually he found it and shoved it shut, plunging them into darkness.

After that, there was nothing but Jemma and her hands on his cheeks, her lips raining kiss after kiss on him, making him even more lightheaded and dizzy than all of his combined drinks had. Her enthusiasm for him was blowing his mind; he could barely keep up with her. He returned her kisses as best as he could until he felt her pull back a little, tugging on his shirt. Then he took control, bracing his hands on her hips and guiding her through the dark until he felt her bump against the opposite wall. There, he trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, intent on making her gasp and moan for him.

“Fitz,” she breathed, clutching at his arms.

There was one.

“_Fitz_,” she said again, dragging out his name.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against her skin, busy with soaking up as much of her as she’d let him.

She giggled as he hit a ticklish spot. “We should get ready for bed.”

He was set to disagree when the wall suddenly disappeared beneath them, sending them both pinwheeling into the half bath with a yelp. It turned out they’d found the door instead of the solid wall, and they’d managed to somehow open it. They burst out laughing again as they righted themselves, and instead of answering her Fitz pulled her into another kiss, going right back to where he’d left off.

“Fiiiiitz,” Jemma whined after a minute, her voice sounding beautifully thin and needy. “We should put our pajamas on.”

He made a displeased noise. “Would rather keep kissing you.”

“But,” she said, sliding her hands from his elbows up to his shoulders, “imagine how much more comfortable we’ll be in bed.”

Fitz froze in the midst of sucking up what was destined to be an impressive love bite at the join of her neck and shoulder. Oh. _ Oh_. Was she suggesting--?

“Sure,” he heard himself say, before he could do otherwise. “I mean--yes. You’re right. Much more comfortable.” He reached past her to fumble for the entrance to the closet, and the light switch there. When he found it, they both winced a little at the brightness of the overhead light. “Here,” he added. “I’ll be a minute. Just need to--to brush my teeth.”

“Alright,” Jemma replied, backing away from him. She bumped against the closet door, then turned and went to collect her pajamas. “See you in a minute.” She gave him a brilliant smile before going into the bedroom and sliding the door shut behind her.

Fitz stood where was was for a second, then shook his head to clear it and grabbed his own pajamas from the closet. In the bathroom, he stripped down as fast as his inebriation would let him, replacing his nice shirt and trousers with his white tee and flannel pants. His dirty clothes were kicked into the back of the closet; he could worry about them later. Then he went to actually go brush his teeth, his mind racing a million miles a minute.

Had Jemma suggested she wanted to sleep with him? _ Sleep _ sleep? Well, maybe it wasn’t so unbelievable--they’d already shared a few hot snogs and she’d definitely straddled him earlier in the day. There were many reasons why they shouldn’t, but in the end Fitz was selfish. If this was his one chance to be with her, he wasn’t going to be a fool and pass it up. 

His teeth brushed, he took a deep breath and went to the door, not entirely sure what he expected to find on the other side.

What he saw made him smile, his heart swelling unexpectedly with love. Jemma had made it out of her dress and into her camisole and sleep shorts, but that was it. Now she was flopped over on her side on the bed where she’d clearly just been sitting up, her face smushed into the blankets, sound asleep. So much for any thoughts of getting laid--but he couldn’t find it within himself to be disappointed.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we,” Fitz chuckled quietly, coming around the end of the bed to her. As gently as he could, he rearranged her so she was properly lying in bed, pulling her feet up onto the mattress and tucking the blankets in around her. Jemma barely stirred, only mumbling once and snuggling deeper into her pillow as he got her settled. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable, he leaned down to kiss her forehead, catching himself on the side of the bed when the room wobbled a little.

“Sweet dreams, Jemma,” he murmured. “See you in the morning.” He paused. “Love you.”

Then he switched off the lamp and went to go crawl into bed next to her, ready to pass out for a good night’s sleep.


	15. Dubrovnik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a word of caution: there is some angst at the end of this chapter. Don't worry, it will resolve quickly!

Fitz awoke to the noisy blaring of Jemma’s phone alarm, which she was making no move to silence.

“Jemma,” he mumbled gruffly, ducking his face against her back, “turn the bloody thing off.”

In front of him, she made a distinctly cranky sound before he felt her fumble around to slap at her phone. A second later the alarm went blessedly silent, and she relaxed back against his chest. Then she pulled the blankets up over both their heads. 

“It’s too bright out,” she whined. 

Fitz agreed. He had a dull, throbbing headache which the early morning sunlight was aggravating, and he strongly suspected Jemma was in the same boat. How many drinks had they had last night? Too many, obviously. “I thought we agreed not to do this again,” he said. “After my birthday, I mean.”

“Obviously, we forgot,” Jemma grumbled. “I’m not sure it was worth it. I feel awful.”

Fitz hummed in sympathy. He disagreed, though: the dancing and subsequent snogging had really, really been worth it, even if he felt like the wrong end of a donkey now. He would just have to make the best of it for both of them. “Come on now,” he said, snuggling in closer against her back. “It’s not_ that _ bad. Not really. You’ll feel better once you have a shower.”

She sighed. “I’ll feel better if I stay in bed for another hour or two. It’s too early.”

“Probably,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, “but I know you won’t forgive yourself if we blow off sightseeing today. Go ahead and get in the shower, I’ll order us breakfast. Pancakes?”

Jemma let out a little moan that had no right doing the things it did to him. “God yes, please. Pancakes sound lovely.” That was a good indicator of how crummy she really felt, then--she didn’t stuff down a stack of pancakes unless it was Christmas or she had a bad hangover. Fitz opened his eyes as she shoved down the blankets and sat up, groaning while pushing her hair out of her face. “I’ll try not to take too long,” she told him. “But if I’m not out in fifteen minutes, come get me.”

“Um,” Fitz said.

She clumsily patted his knee above the blankets. “Thank you for getting breakfast.”

Fortunately, or perhaps not so fortunately for Fitz, Jemma finished her shower before her self-appointed deadline. She looked like she felt marginally more human at least, dressed for the day and her hair dried and pulled back. “You’re just in time,” Fitz said as she came padding out into the living area. “Harry’s here with the pancakes.”

The other man smiled at her and nodded in greeting as he poured their tea. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Harry,” she said as she collapsed into her seat at the table. “Thanks for bringing us our breakfast so quickly.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, passing her the milk. He made a bemused face at the way Jemma was shielding her face from the sunlight spilling in through the balcony doors. “Have a late night?” he asked delicately.

Fitz snorted softly into his teacup as he raised it to take a sip. Jemma gave him a stern glare from across the table, then said, “Something like that.”

Harry nodded as though this was something he heard from guests all the time. It probably was. “Would you like me to pull the curtains closed?” he offered, nodding at the glass doors. “It should make things a little more pleasant for you.”

Fitz looked over at them. “Actually… yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” He saw Jemma visibly sag in relief as the butler adjusted the curtains on the doors closest to them, dimming the amount of sunlight coming in significantly. He even felt the ache in his own head decrease.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Harry asked, pressing his palms together.

“No, I think we’re good now. Thank you very much.” Jemma gave him the first smile Fitz had seen out of her all morning.

The tea and the pancakes helped, as did water and aspirin and a shower when Fitz finally got around to his, but they were still keenly feeling the effects of their hangovers when they disembarked the ship to start their day. Port was just north of the picturesque seaside town of Dubrovnik, but their first stop was the village of Cavtat, about thirty minutes down the Croatian coast by car.

“I think I would enjoy this view a lot more if I didn’t have a headache,” Jemma commented. They were sitting outside a little café on Cavtat’s waterfront promenade, watching the boats out on the water and the seagulls swooping between them. “And if it weren’t so early.”

“I hear you,” Fitz replied, lifting his mug to his lips. They’d both ordered coffees, opting to get something a little stronger than tea in them when the latter hadn’t done the trick. “But this is twice now you’ve complained about getting up early. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you protest an early start before.”

It was the earliest they’d been off the boat the whole cruise and while he was keenly feeling it, Fitz had expected Jemma to be her usual chipper self. Then again, there was the hangover. She could be forgiven a little bit of griping. 

She took a sip of her own coffee and gave him a look from behind her sunglasses that was only mildly scolding. “It _ is _ early,” she said. “Don’t pretend it isn’t. I’ll be glad for all of this later, but it feels a bit obscene that we’ve been up, showered, had breakfast, driven a good half hour, _ and _ had time for coffee and it’s not even half past eight yet.”

Fitz nodded. “I will grant you that as well. If it were Saturday at home, I wouldn’t even be awake yet.”

Jemma nudged his foot with hers. “You’re barely awake by lunch.”

They didn’t stay long, just enough to drink their coffee in peace and stroll a bit along the promenade in the shade of the palm trees before they hopped back in their private car to head to their next destination. This was a family-owned winery in the hills above Cavtat, where they were scheduled to take a tour and participate in a wine tasting.

The vineyard was smaller than Fitz had expected but rather idyllic, with grapevines running in rows against a backdrop of tall cypress trees. The man who owned the winery told them in detail of its history: how it had been in the family for generations, but had suffered greatly during the breakup of the former Yugoslavia. Just like many other wineries in the region they had lost their old vines when they were forced to leave, and had to replant everything upon returning home after the war. It had been nearly twenty years since they’d been back in production, however, and they were very proud of what they were making now.

After taking a walkthrough of how the wine was made, they had their tasting. “Would you have planned this for us today, in hindsight?” Fitz asked in amusement as he looked around the cellar they were in, at the large oak barrels on display and the other visitors enjoying their samples. “A wine tasting, on a hangover?”

“Hmm. Probably not,” Jemma replied, swirling her Plavac around in the bottom of her glass. “I might have just given us another day to relax on a beach. There’s supposed to be some nice ones near Cavtat. Or we could have done the Game of Thrones location tour.”

Fitz sipped at his wine. “We don’t even watch the show.”

“It might have been interesting to see.” Jemma shrugged delicately. “We would have won cool points at the lab, in any case.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded, thinking of their more pop culture-savvy coworkers. “Grimes and Webber and the rest of them would have thought that was the most interesting thing we did this entire holiday. Forget seeing old cathedrals and ancient monuments--”  
  
“And volcanoes,” Jemma supplied.

“And volcanoes,” Fitz echoed. “Forget all of that, seeing some building where a bunch of actors walked was the pinnacle of our adventure.”

Jemma laughed, her mouth twisting in a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone like Grimes.”

Unbidden, Fitz thought of his coworker’s offer of advice on how to get with Jemma. It made something unpleasant curl in his gut--he obviously hadn’t needed the coaching, but how much longer would it last? Would he be able to go back to work and tell Grimes that he’d been right and Jemma did actually have feelings for him?

They spent the ride back to Dubrovnik discussing what they wanted to do onboard the ship in the evening, but Fitz’s attention was torn. He held Jemma’s hand in his and thought about how wonderful the past few days had been, how incredible it was to be able to hold and kiss and love her, even if he couldn’t say it. He knew he needed to ask her what all of this meant, but he was too afraid to; he was still terrified that she would turn him down and end what they’d started here, returning to just being friends. He didn’t think he could do it. Not after he’d had this glimpse of heaven with her. 

But he was determined to hold onto these last hours with her and make the most of them. He could be stubborn and refuse to deal with the inevitable question of what they were to each other until she thought it was time to cross that bridge.

In Dubrovnik, their driver dropped them off just outside the old town, a pedestrianized section of the city surrounded by old fortified walls. Fitz and Jemma walked hand-in-hand across a short stone bridge and through a gate with a heavy wooden door to enter. Fitz immediately felt like he’d been transported back in time, surrounded by all of the closely-built pale stone buildings with red tile roofs, arched doorways, and shuttered windows.

Using Jemma’s GPS, they found their way to the Stradun, the old town’s wide main street, and spent a while slowly strolling, peering in at all of the shops that lined it. They bought ice cream at an outdoor vendor that Fitz spied on one of the side streets and Jemma teased him, saying that even if it wasn’t gelato, it was still a perfect treat for a warm day. They stopped by Dubrovnik Cathedral, whose smooth, white stone interior was different still to all of the other churches they’d visited. Jemma admired all of the intricate stonework decorating the outside of the cathedral, and Fitz obliged her by taking several photos with her so they could have proof of their visit.

After visiting the Sponza Palace to look at all of the old documents on display--more of interest to Jemma than Fitz--they checked out the market to see what goods were available and buy a few souvenirs to take home. On the way out, they were highly amused to find an Irish pub tucked into a corner building, and Jemma couldn’t resist getting photos. Who would believe they had found a spot of home in the middle of Croatia? After going in and buying a pint just to be polite as they watched a footie match on the television, they finally headed back to the ship to meet their early curfew.

-:-

“I can’t believe it’s the last day of the cruise and we’re only just now making it out to the pool,” Jemma said as they walked outside on the open deck, sliding her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. “We almost missed an opportunity to fully take advantage of the ship’s amenities. And no, sitting in the hot tub for an hour the other day doesn’t count. We barely got wet.”

“I believe it,” Fitz muttered as he shuffled after her in his swim trunks, a towel draped over his arm. “We’ve been so busy almost every day, right up to dinnertime. There hasn’t really been time for anything else. And besides, we’ve done the beach--_ twice_. It’s not like we haven’t gone swimming at _ all_.”

Jemma looked back at him as they made their way around the side of the pool, heading for some deck chairs in the shade of the elevated walking track. “Would you rather we find something else to do?” she asked, trying to gauge his mood. “Though, I can’t imagine what--you said no to the spa and neither of us are interested in the live shows--”

“No, no, this is fine.” She didn’t miss the way Fitz’s throat bobbed, or how his eyes looked her over in her swimsuit. It made a little flash of heat roll down her spine. Satisfied that she wasn’t dragging him someplace he didn’t want to go, Jemma found them two empty deck chairs where they could set their bag and towels down and get ready for some time spent in the pool.

After they’d generously applied sun cream to each other--Jemma probably enjoyed getting her hands on Fitz again a little too much--they ventured into the water. It was a little crowded; apparently a lot of the other passengers had the same idea they did. But the water felt deliciously cool in the heat of the afternoon sun, and Jemma took a lot of delight in dunking her head beneath the water and grabbing Fitz’s leg, startling him so much that he too crashed underwater. When they both came up she was laughing and he was spluttering, and he immediately sent a wave of water at her with his fist in retaliation.

It went like that for a good while, the two of them roughhousing in the water. It was a lot of fun and afforded Jemma the opportunity to get very up close and personal with Fitz, which made her heart race. She even claimed a kiss or two from him in the water, thrilling at how his wet skin slicked against hers when she pulled him close, the heat of his mouth a sharp contrast to the cold of the water. It made her want to wrap herself around him and let themselves get carried away, but she had to remind herself that they were in public. They had to keep the PDA down to a certain level.

They were swimming laps around each other, seeing who could get from one side of the pool to the other the quickest, when Jemma looked up and made a discovery. “Fitz!” she cried, swimming over to him. “Look! One of the hot tubs is empty!”

He looked where she pointed, over to one corner of the pool where one of the deck’s four hot tubs had just been vacated by its occupants. He raised an eyebrow. “Want to go sit for awhile?” he asked her, pushing his wet curls off his forehead.

“Yes, please,” Jemma said eagerly. Fitz nodded and swam to the edge of the pool, Jemma following along right behind him. She skipped ahead of him once they were on the deck, and quickly climbed into the hot tub to claim their prize. Settling against the side of the tub, she looked up at Fitz and fixed him with her most winsome expression. “Fitz?” she asked sweetly. “Would you mind getting me a drink?” Seeing his nose crinkle, she added, “Obviously you can get one for yourself, too, but I thought I could just hold our spot here for us.”

Fitz’s face turned slightly amused. “Yeah, sure. What would you like?”

She thought for a few seconds. “A daiquiri,” she said at length. “Like the last time we were here. Daiquiris feel like the right kind of drink for a hot tub.”

Fitz nodded. “Right, a daiquiri. Back in a minute.”

He trotted off in the direction of the poolside bar. Jemma smiled to herself as she watched him go, her eyes lingering on the muscles in his back and the shape of his bum through his swim trunks. Then she turned and relaxed again, letting her feet float in the churning water a bit and looking out across the deck bathed in the rich golden light of late afternoon. This wasn’t a bad way to spend their last day on the ship. Relaxing, sipping drinks with her favorite person in the world… it was the perfect way to prepare for their big day in Venice.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat; she looked over to see that a young couple had approached the hot tub, smiling hopefully. “Is there enough room for two more?” the man asked, gesturing to himself and the woman with him. “All the others are full.”

“Oh!” Jemma sat up a bit straighter. “Of course, of course… I don’t want to be greedy.” They seemed friendly enough, and she didn’t think Fitz would mind the extra company. The hot tub was huge and would easily sit the four of them without being crowded. 

“Thanks.” The man offered the woman a hand to help her into the tub, then followed her in. As they got settled on the bench, he grinned at Jemma. “I’m Aaron, by the way, and this is Gabrielle.” The woman smiled and waved.

“I’m Jemma,” she said, smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you, and--share a hot tub, I guess.”

Gabrielle laughed as she straightened the straps of her bright blue swimsuit on her shoulders. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Oh, no,” Jemma said again, shaking her head. “I’m here with my--” She faltered slightly. “My boyfriend. He’s gone to get us some drinks.”

It still felt strange yet exciting to refer to Fitz as her boyfriend, and she wished he had been there to hear it, if only to gauge his reaction. But, as if she’d summoned him with her thoughts, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oh, I see we’ve got some friends now.”

She turned to see Fitz standing just behind the tub, holding two daiquiris and looking amused again. She smiled widely. “Yes!” she said brightly. “I thought it would be nice to share since all of the other hot tubs are full.”

Fitz handed Jemma both drinks and braced a hand on the side of the tub to climb in. “This is the boyfriend?” Gabrielle asked. He looked from her to Jemma and back again.

“Talking about me?” he teased, the amused look still lingering at the corner of his lips.

Jemma shrugged sheepishly. “They asked if I was alone and I told them no, I was with you.”

“Ah, yes.” Fitz’s smile turned a little soft as he sat down next to her, then looked to Aaron and Gabrielle. “That’s me.” He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, making her duck her head and grin.

Across from them, Gabrielle looked like she wanted to coo at how cute they were. “Have you guys enjoyed the cruise?” Aaron asked, draping his arm across the edge of the tub behind Gabrielle.

“Very much,” Jemma said, handing Fitz his drink and taking a sip of hers. “It’s been a dream, honestly. I couldn’t have asked for a better holiday.” She looked at Fitz. “Right?”

He nodded, sucking up a sip of his own drink through his straw. “Yeah,” he said once he’d swallowed. “It’s been pretty perfect.” He gave her that soft smile again, an emotion she couldn’t quite read hiding in his eyes. “It’s going to be hard to go home after we see Venice tomorrow.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Gabrielle said, looking at Aaron and smiling. “This has been our honeymoon, and it’s been the best two weeks of our lives.”

Aaron dropped his hand to squeeze her shoulder. “Getting to see all of these cities and places with her has ticked off a bunch of bucket list items for sure.”

“Oh, your honeymoon!” Jemma cried softly, her eyes starry as Fitz murmured the same next to her. “How romantic! What a wonderful way to celebrate your wedding, congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Gabrielle smiled back at Aaron, and it was plain to see from their facial expressions just how in love they were. Jemma almost envied them, how easily they displayed that affection. What she wouldn’t give to have the courage to tell Fitz openly how she felt. Then Gabrielle looked back at them, and she put a smile back on her face. “What about you two? Is this a romantic getaway?”

Next to her, Fitz laughed awkwardly. Jemma laughed too in an attempt to cover it up, and took another long sip of her daiquiri to settle her sudden nerves. “I suppose? I actually won this cruise in a giveaway,” she explained. “But it worked out perfectly for us in that respect.” _ Remember your story. _ “We couldn’t turn down the chance at a getaway. It’s definitely been romantic, yes.” She glanced up at Fitz and smiled again, hoping she hadn’t come across as too weird with her improvisation.

This time, Gabrielle didn’t hold back a soft noise of approval. “The way you two look at each other is too cute,” she said. “I can tell you really love each other.”

Was it really? Did they truly look like they were in love? Janet seemed to think so too, and it was an observation that stuck in Jemma’s mind for the rest of the afternoon, through a long, pleasant conversation with Aaron and Gabrielle and all the way back to their suite, where both she and Fitz each had a shower to wash the pool’s chlorine from their hair. 

It circled through her thoughts as they had dinner in the ship’s main dining room, electing to dress up a little since it was their last night on board. Fitz told her she looked nice as she took his arm, and the compliment made happiness bubble up inside her chest. Was that also a thing that made them appear to be in love--something he might have told her even if they weren’t pretending to be dating, even if their relationship hadn’t taken that sudden shift on the shore outside of Athens? Had the seeds always been there, just waiting to grow?

All of her questions and the possibilities they raised were still swirling in her mind when the evening movie’s final scene finished playing out on the large screen on the pool deck. They’d decided to make a date of it rather than spend their last night in their suite, and Jemma had enjoyed spending an hour or so cuddled up next to Fitz, sharing popcorn and a soda while watching a silly romcom. The theme of the movie was perhaps a little too on the nose for how her emotions were churning, but Fitz had seemed to enjoy himself too, at least. His arm had stayed warm and secure around her the entire duration, he’d laughed at all of the humorous parts, and he’d brushed more than one kiss against her forehead during the softer moments.

She was thinking about finally saying something to him when she heard their voices being called as they went to bin their trash. They turned to see Janet approaching them with a smile.

“Hello!” she chirped. “I’m so glad I got to see you two one more time before we all leave in the morning. How’d you like the movie?”

“It was okay,” Fitz replied, stretching to toss their empty soda cup in the garbage bin.

“_Okay_,” Jemma parroted, rolling her eyes fondly. “You laughed just as much as I did.”

He shrugged expressively. “Maybe,” he hedged, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. 

Janet was still smiling as she watched them go back and forth. “It really was nice to see you two realize your feelings for each other,” she said, “A little disappointing that my Ashley missed out on such a charming young man, but it’s all your gain, isn’t it?” She winked at Jemma. “Enjoy Venice tomorrow, and have a safe trip home.”

They said their goodbyes, and Fitz and Jemma walked hand-in-hand back to their suite. She was convinced more than ever that she needed to say something, _ now_, before the cruise was over. She wanted to have the question of their relationship and what they meant to each other sorted before the night was over; they’d both let things spin out unacknowledged long enough. She wanted to see Venice with a proper boyfriend.

Fitz let them back into their suite and went ahead of her down the narrow hallway, hitting the switch to turn on the lamps as he did. Behind him, Jemma wrung her hands together and shored up her courage to take the most important leap of her life.

“Fitz,” she said as she came around the corner into the living area, “we need to talk.”

He stopped with his back to her, and stayed there for a second before turning to face her, taking in a deep breath as he reached up to rub his hand at the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that,” he mumbled, his voice sounding strange. “I don’t think we should.”

She blinked. “What?”

He looked at his feet but gestured between them. “Us,” he said shortly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” When she only gaped at him, feeling like he’d just punched the air from her lungs, he added, “It’s just--you, you go through boyfriends really fast and dump them when you get bored, and--” His eyes flicked up to hers before looking quickly back down. “I can’t do that.”

Jemma blinked again as her eyes filled with tears, a betrayed, humiliated hurt clawing its way through her. “Is--is that what you think all of this has been about?” she gasped, pressing a hand to her stomach. 

Fitz didn’t reply, simply continuing to stare at the floor while looking extremely uncomfortable. After a pause, he made as if to say something; then he stopped, licked his lips, and muttered, “I’m sure you’ll find someone else soon.” 

Jemma sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step back from him. She didn’t understand what was happening, how he’d so suddenly gone from sweet and attentive to… _ this_. She wanted to demand answers, to ask if the entire past week had been a lie, if it had all truly been just a game to him, but at the moment she was dangerously close to falling apart. She couldn’t have a breakdown, not here. Not right in front of Fitz, who apparently didn’t care at all.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” she whispered brokenly, and turned to run from the suite. She didn’t know where she would go--she just knew she needed to get away.

-:-

She wound up back on the pool deck, which still had a fair amount of people out despite the late hour. Jemma ran quickly past them all to a section of empty tables that lined one side of the deck near the bar, shadowed by the raised walking tracks. She hoped that it would provide her some privacy from anyone who happened to pass by. There, she collapsed into a chair next to the railing and buried her face in her hands, breaking down into sobs.

She didn’t understand any of it. Why had Fitz rejected her without even giving her a chance to ask? And why had he been so _ cruel_? Her emotions caught on the jagged edges of her broken heart, which only made her cry more. It didn’t make sense. Fitz had never given any indication that he felt like she was using him or treating him badly. Rather, he’d been a very willing participant in everything they’d done. In fact, _ he’d _ been the one to kiss _ her_! How could he say that they wouldn’t work together?

Everything he’d said and done, she’d believed to be completely genuine. Even when they had both known they were pretending to fool Janet, she’d felt that his actions had come from a place of true affection. Now she was doubting everything. Did he truly care for her, even as a friend? Had he ever respected her at all? Had she ever really known him?

_ Something’s not right_, a small voice whispered in her head. _ Something about this is all wrong. _ She’d had nearly a decade with Fitz to learn him inside and out; at times she felt she knew him better than she knew himself. The Fitz she loved would never hurt her like this. Not without a reason.

_ But sometimes people just turn out to be less than you thought they were_, her bruised, devastated heart said. _ Even your very best friend. _

Jemma lost track of how long she stayed out on the pool deck, crying her eyes out. She somehow managed to escape anyone’s notice while she was there--either that, or she was simply too pitiful a picture to disturb. When she finally dragged herself up from her table, the deck was practically deserted.

She dreaded going back to their suite. She didn’t know what she would find, what sort of mood Fitz would be in, if he would even want to see or talk to her. But she had nowhere else to go, and she couldn’t very well sleep out on the pool deck. She had no other choice but to shove her feelings down and go back.

When she let herself back in, Jemma was a little surprised to find the suite dark, save for the dim light of a single lamp. Coming around the corner into the living area, she saw that it was the lamp on her side of the bed--and that Fitz had already gone to sleep, lying on his side with his back facing her.

A fresh wave of tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at him. Well, that answered _ that _ question: he didn’t want to talk to her. He’d rather sleep, or pretend to sleep, than face what he’d said to her.

A hollow sort of ache overtook her as she moved as quietly as she could into the bathroom to go through the motions of getting ready for bed. She had no idea how she was supposed to sleep beside him given the things he’d said to her, or how they were going to survive the last day of their holiday together--much less their trip home and everything that came after. She was just too heartbroken to pretend like none of it had ever happened.

When she crawled into bed and Fitz didn’t even stir or mumble, that was when Jemma knew he was really awake. For a moment she considered telling him off, but she couldn’t summon the energy. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her. What good would forcing the issue do?

Turning her lamp off, she curled up into a ball facing away from Fitz and squeezed her eyes shut, silently crying herself to sleep.


	16. Venice

It was a nightmare.

When Jemma’s alarm had gone off that morning and she’d awoken without Fitz’s warmth wrapped around her, she’d been disoriented for a moment. Then the events of the night before had come rushing back in--his cruel rejection of her and her ensuing heartbreak. Just remembering how much his words had hurt was enough to bring tears to her eyes again, and she’d hurried to the bathroom to have her shower without looking to see if Fitz was awake, much less acknowledging her existence.

Things had only gotten worse from there. Fitz only spoke to her when absolutely necessary, always quiet and short. At least at the buffet, which she’d managed to get him to agree on for breakfast, she could pretend to be engrossed by her food and the other people around them instead of spending all of her energy trying not to cry even more. She just thanked her lucky stars that they didn’t run into Janet while they were there. She didn’t know how she would have explained their silence and refusal to look at each other.

Harry noticed, however. He was in their suite packing their bags for them when they returned from breakfast. Jemma could feel his eyes moving between them as Fitz took a seat at the table and switched on the television, and Jemma sat on the sofa and poked at her phone. But he didn’t say anything, which she considered a blessing. It was probably professional courtesy. He’d likely seen plenty of couples get into tiffs. Not that she and Fitz had been an actual real couple, and this was no ordinary tiff. The reminder only made her even more miserable, and she was barely able to summon up even a fake smile when Harry saw them out of their suite, wishing them a pleasant day in Venice. That simply wasn’t going to happen, not at this rate.

Now they were onboard a little water taxi, holding onto their luggage as they chugged around the main perimeter of Venice after leaving the port, and Jemma couldn’t even be happy that she was finally seeing the city she’d long dreamed about visiting. Not when her relationship with Fitz had crumbled to pieces overnight.

She snuck a glance at him. He was sitting still and gazing out across the water towards the city, his expression unreadable. She had the feeling that he’d been watching her all morning, sneaking glances of his own when she wasn’t looking; but whenever she looked back, he was always turned somewhere else. It made her irritable alongside her despair. If he was going to break her heart, he could at least own up to it and face her.

Eventually the taxi reached their stop, and Jemma thanked the driver as they got out, hauling their suitcases after them. Fitz stood silently as she oriented herself with her phone’s GPS, then followed as she took off down the street, headed for their hotel.

She was glad it was only a few minutes’ walk. Ordinarily they would be full of chatter, pointing out all of the different buildings that lined the canal, teasing each other about gondola rides, or discussing what they wanted to do in the city. She hated the silence. Perhaps she would have to take in the sights alone. The idea only made her even more unhappy.

When they reached the hotel, Jemma allowed herself a moment to try and appreciate how beautiful it was and sent up a prayer of thanks to Pepper Potts’ assistant, or whoever had booked this for them. The reception hall had a travertine tile floor decorated with intricately-patterned rugs and was lit by gleaming brass chandeliers, which showed off the exposed brickwork of the walls and the ornate front desk. It was much more opulent than the hotel in Barcelona, and it made Jemma feel like a queen.

Or it would have, if Fitz hadn’t completely shut her out and ruined any joy she could find in her surroundings.

Once she’d checked them in and received their room key, they took an excruciating elevator ride to the second floor. Jemma led them down the lavishly-decorated hall until she found their room, then let them through the heavy wooden door.

Inside, her stomach sank. There was just one bed. Again.

Fitz sighed heavily as the door clicked shut behind them. “Right,” he said, gripping the handle of his suitcase and speaking more to the bed than he was her. “I’ll just go back down to the front desk and see about getting a different room--”

Something inside Jemma snapped. “What did I do wrong?” she demanded, rounding on him as fresh tears sprung to her eyes. “Why did you--everything was magic, it was _ beautiful_, I thought you actually _ felt _ something for me. But then you went and called me _ cheap_\--”

Fitz’s jaw dropped. “I did not!” he yelped.

His shock only made her even more upset. “You did!” she cried, her voice rising in pitch. “You said I go through boyfriends like water and dump them when I get bored, like some sort of cheap tramp would!”

“I panicked!” he shouted. “I was scared! I thought you were going to dump me so I thought if I did it first, it might not hurt as much!”

Jemma stared at him in disbelief, completely unable to follow his logic. He thought _ she _ was going to dump him? Why? And how could he have thought that what he said to her would hurt _ less_? She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “And that required you to call me _ cheap_?!” she demanded.

“_No_.” Fitz let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling for a second before looking back at her. “That’s not what I meant at all. But--”

“Do you really think I’d use you like that? _ You_, of all people?” she bit out as the first angry tears slipped down her cheeks.

Fitz exhaled, looking aggrieved, and shook his head. “_No_,” he said again. “But--you _ do _ go through boyfriends kind of fast. I think you stayed with Milton the longest and that wasn’t even half a year--”

“Because he wasn’t _ you_, you numpty!” Jemma cried. Fitz blinked at her. “None of them were!” she continued. “And I’m sorry that it took _ pretending _ to be your girlfriend to realize just how funny and sweet and perfect for me you were, but if you really think I’m the sort of person who would use you up and leave you, if you think I’m _ cheap_, maybe I don’t know you at all.”

“_Jemma._” Fitz’s face twisted in anguish. “_God_. I’m sorry. I’m an arse.”

She hugged her arms tighter around herself, looking down somewhere around his waistline. “Yes, you are,” she mumbled.

He took a step forward, holding his hands out to her. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m the absolute worst.”

“Yes, you are,” Jemma mumbled again.

Fitz gently grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him, carefully wrapping her up in his arms. She came a little reluctantly, too hurt to really reciprocate but still wanting his care, even after everything. “When I heard you crying in bed last night, I felt terrible,” he said.

“Good.” She wanted to remind him that it was all his own doing, but she didn’t have the energy. She just felt sad and hollow, deeply disappointed that her best friend had thought so little of her and nearly destroyed their relationship as a result. How did he really see her? She was afraid to even ask now.

Fitz sighed and leaned his cheek on her head, lifting a hand to slowly run his fingers through her hair in a gesture that was meant to be soothing. It worked, a little bit; Jemma relaxed slightly in his arms. “These past two weeks have been… everything I never knew I wanted,” he said quietly. “I got to see some of the world with the most amazing woman by my side. She’s smart and witty and capable and she puts up with my moods. She remembered my birthday and made it special even though we were far away from home.” He tightened his arms around her. “You’re not cheap, Jemma. You’re my best friend, and you’re more than that. I… I am _ so _ sorry. There’s nothing I would love more than being your boyfriend. And… if you can forgive me… I’d like to make it up to you.”

“How?” Jemma asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Let me take you out tonight,” he said, still stroking his fingers through her hair. “For dinner, somewhere nice. Anywhere in the city you want.”

“Like a date?”

“Like a date,” he confirmed. “A real date.”

Jemma sighed and turned her face into his neck. She wanted to accept his apology and go on a date with him, she really did. She wanted to believe everything he said and go back to being happily in love, to _ tell _ him she was in love. But she felt so hesitant now, his words from the night before still echoing in his ears. _ I don’t think it’s a good idea. _

But she tried to remind herself of the Fitz she had known for nearly ten years, who was thoughtful and sweet beneath his sometimes-prickly exterior, and who she felt she knew better than herself. She reminded herself of how his treatment of her over the course of their holiday had felt completely genuine, and how much she’d wanted it. She thought of the man who had been by her side since she was sixteen, and knew in her heart that he couldn’t be the person who had hurt her so badly the night before. He’d just been scared, like he said, and had made a decision that had backfired spectacularly trying to protect himself. 

In the end, her faith in her best friend and her desire to salvage their relationship, to see if they could really be something together, won out. “I accept,” she said, pulling away and taking a step back so she could look at him. “But on one condition.”

Fitz swallowed thickly, his expression serious. “Yeah?”

“Don’t make assumptions about me ever again,” she said, her voice wavering only slightly. “If this is going to work, you need to trust me. We need to be able to trust each other.”

“This?” Fitz asked. His eyebrows had gone up, his face glowing with hope.

It made Jemma’s heart flutter despite itself. “Yes, this. Us,” she replied. “I hope you’ve figured out by now that I _ do _ want to be with you. Really, truly. If you can stop being an arse.”

Fitz grimaced, but took the criticism without trying to defend himself. “Right,” he said. “Right, good. I… I think I can manage that.”

The small smile he offered her brought one out on her own face, and Jemma stepped back into his space, resting her hands on his chest. “You think so?” she asked, just to make sure.

He nodded, swallowing again. “Yeah. For you...” He trailed off, his expression suddenly turning achingly open and vulnerable, and lifted a hand to her cheek. “I love you,” he said.

Feeling an indescribable swell of emotion--he _ loved _ her--Jemma went up on her toes to kiss him, needing to know how it would feel in the wake of their misunderstanding, now that they’d bared everything to each other. He was just as warm and soft as he’d been before, and she had to fight not to melt when his arms came up to gently hold her to him as he kissed her back. It was sweet, genuine and heartfelt, and that more than anything made her feel like things were settling back to rights between them.

“I love you, too,” she whispered when they parted.

Fitz smiled as he took her face in his hands and wiped at her tear-stained cheeks with his thumbs. “Here,” he said gently. “Why don’t you go wash your face, and then we can get settled in and talk about what we want to do today.”

She was still feeling a little tender and raw, but Jemma smiled back anyway, unbelievably happy that he loved her in return and relieved that he was back to his sweet and thoughtful self. “Don’t want to see about getting a different room?” she asked him, unable to pass up the opportunity to tease him a little.

It made his smile widen, and he shook his head. “No,” he replied, glancing at the room’s queen-size bed with its plush cream linens and opulent upholstered headboard. “I think this one will be just fine.”

-:- 

After Jemma cleaned up and took a moment to appreciate the ensuite bathroom--dark wooden beams on the ceiling just like in the bedroom, beautiful pale marble on the sink and in the shower, and the shower had a _ bench_\--she and Fitz got unpacked and sat down on the bed to plan their day. Jemma already had a list of things she wanted to see, which didn’t surprise Fitz at all. He knew she’d been looking forward to Venice ever since they’d left Boston, and was sure she’d had to narrow her list down to a small handful of items already.

While they talked, he tried not to make it too obvious that he was staring at her, but he couldn’t help it. He still felt like an unbelievably giant arse for hurting her, and he was looking for signs that she was still upset. She wasn’t as bright and chipper as she might normally have been while planning something, but Jemma was smiling here and there, and she _ did _ look genuinely excited to go out and explore. He supposed that was the best he could hope for. He would have to earn her trust and affection back.

When they were finally ready to venture out from the hotel, it was nearing lunchtime. As they set out onto the street, Jemma reached over to take his hand in hers. Fitz looked up in surprise, not having expected such a gesture from her so soon despite their declarations of love, but she only gave him a small smile before tugging him along. It was enough.

They ate lunch at a cozy little restaurant near St. Mark’s Square that had tables in a lovely back garden. Fitz let Jemma pick the wine, wanting to be as agreeable as possible after all he’d done. As they lingered over their menus he snuck a look at her and smiled at the way the sun shone on her hair, creating a halo around her face. She was beautiful, and he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but he had it. He would do his best to show her that he was worth it from now on.

The food was good and their conversation flowed rather easily given that they’d just had a fight. Jemma detailed everything they needed to do in the morning to make it to the airport in time for their flight home, and Fitz joked about being spoiled by business class seats and all the luxury it afforded them. Flying to Scotland to visit his mum would never be the same again.

Once they were full on wine and pasta, they continued on to St. Mark’s Square. As soon as they reached the famous piazza, Jemma let out a soft squeal and grabbed onto his arm with both hands. “We’re finally here!” she exclaimed. “The most romantic square in world! Oh, look at it. It’s beautiful.”

Privately, Fitz didn’t think it looked all that different from any of the other squares they’d visited in Florence or Rome: wide and open, lined by buildings constructed in the Renaissance style, and packed with hot and sweaty tourists. But the architecture _ was _ nice. The symmetry and repetition of the columns and arches on the buildings to either side of the square were very pleasing to the eye, and St. Mark’s Basilica--which sat on the far end of the square opposite them--was a landmark with its plentiful statues and gilded portals studded with colorful mosaics.

“It’s nice,” he said, covering her hands with one of his own, and smiled at her. “Awful lot of pigeons, though.”

Jemma _ tsked _ at him. “They’re part of the decor, the romance. They’re _ tradition_. It’s not St. Mark’s Square without them.”

He watched as a small pack of them fluttered over to harass a couple taking a photo. “I’ll take your word for it,” he laughed. “But they look pretty scary to me.”

Jemma huffed again and pulled him a few steps deeper into the square. “We have to take a kissing photo. That’s tradition, too.”

Fitz gaped at her, surprised again. “You, um… you still want to do things like that?”

She glanced at him as she pulled her phone from her bag, then did a double-take, her expression softening. “Yes, I do,” she said gently. “I’m still hurt, but--I’m not interested in punishing you. I want this to work. _ Us_, I want us to work. And I want to enjoy today with you.” She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve only been looking forward to it for two weeks.”

“Right. Yeah,” Fitz replied, nodding eagerly. “It’s just--I didn’t know if you wanted to take it slow or anything.”

Jemma tilted her head at him. “I think seven years is plenty slow, don’t you?” she asked. When he just stared at her, amazed, she squeezed his hand and said, “Come on, I’d like a really cute picture to disgust Grimes with.”

He followed easily, ready and willing to engage in trite tourist behavior with her if it made her happy (and it meant he got to kiss her). He was still dumbfounded that she’d forgiven him, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They tried a few times to kiss while Jemma held out her phone with one arm, but she struggled to take a photo, leaving them giggling against each other’s lips. Finally a passerby took pity on them and offered to take the photo instead. Jemma was very pleased with the result: her hands resting on Fitz’s chest while his arms held her close, their mouths meeting in a sweet kiss. Behind them, pigeons pecked at crumbs on the pavement while the basilica and the towering campanile in front of it rose in the background. It was the very essence of a cheesy tourist photo and she loved everything about it, she told him. It just made Fitz’s heart pound in his chest to see them so intimate, captured on camera.

Jemma signed them up for a two-hour walking tour of Venice once they were done taking pictures. “It’ll be fun,” she said, tugging on his hand again. “I researched the tour before we left. We’ll get to see plenty of good sights this way without wandering aimlessly.”

“I’m sure,” Fitz replied, but he was only thinking of his feet and how sore they’d been after walking all over Rome. He knew the muscle cream was somewhere in his luggage still; maybe he could beg another foot rub out of Jemma if it got too bad.

“It’s not going to ruin your feet,” she said as if she’d read his mind. “We haven’t walked nearly as much as we did that day in Rome. But if they get too sore, I can always give them a massage at the hotel later.”

“Promise?” he asked hopefully, raising his eyebrows at her.

Jemma squinted at him, like she saw right through his faux innocence, straight to the fact that he’d enjoyed that foot rub too much. “Promise,” she said. “But I’ll say it again, you wouldn’t have this problem if you’d just come jogging with me on the weekends…”

Once the tour got started, they followed their group out of St. Mark’s Square and down a street alongside a canal. Jemma happily pointed out all of the gondolas lined up waiting to take on riders, and cooed happily as they crossed a narrow arched bridge over the canal itself. She was really enthralled with the city, and they’d barely begun to see it. Fitz found it catching. 

After a few turns down narrow streets, their group came to a small courtyard which featured a magnificent five-story brick-and-stone spiral staircase. It was called the Bovolo Staircase, their guide told them, and was designed and built in the late 15th century as part of the city residence for a wealthy Venetian family. 

“We really came to look at a staircase?” Fitz whispered aside to Jemma, who was taking a photo on her phone.

“Fitz!” she hissed, elbowing him. “It’s very unique! And gorgeous, not to mention five hundred years old. It’s in excellent condition for having been around so long.”

He grinned, trying to hide a good-humored snicker. It was good to know he could still rile her up with his teasing regarding some of the sights they saw. It reinforced that they could still be best friends too, despite his mistakes and the affirmed step forward in their relationship.

They weren’t allowed to go up the staircase, but their guide allowed time for plenty of pictures before herding them along to the next landmark. That turned out to be the Teatro Goldoni, Venice’s first public theater, which dated from the early 17th century. Fitz found the facade rather unimpressive, but their guide gave them a very informative speech on the theater’s history of hosting plays, operas, and ballet, and said that the interior was spectacular--lavish and ornate.

“Wish we had time to go inside,” Jemma said as they followed their group down the street.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Fitz agreed.

“We could pretend we were rich nobles there to take in an opera,” she added.

“But we’re not dressed for it.”

Jemma made a face. “Ugh, _ Fitz_. If you didn’t come up with the most brilliant ideas in the lab, I’d swear you have no imagination.”

“I like to stay grounded in reality.”

She elbowed him again, but her exasperation with him was short-lived: their group’s path brought them out to the Grand Canal.

“Oh, now _ this _ is exciting,” she said, grabbing his hand and bobbing on the balls of her feet as they walked. “It’s just like every postcard I’ve seen.”

Here were all of the pastel buildings lining the canal, the wooden piles sticking out of the distinctive green water, the gondolas and other small craft cruising along. It hit Fitz once again--slightly absurd for how obvious it was--that he was indeed in a foreign city, and he was getting to experience it with Jemma. He squeezed her hand in his.

“And look!” she said, pointing ahead of them. “There it is. The Rialto Bridge.”

Not too far in the distance was Venice’s most famous bridge, spanning the Grand Canal in a graceful high arch of white stone. Like the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, it was wide enough to contain a row of shops in the center, and it was overflowing with tourists. As they neared it, Fitz gripped Jemma’s hand even tighter so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd.

She pulled him past café tables and a group of young school students to ascend the stairs to the bridge. The outer edge, between the stone railing and the back of the shops, was especially crowded with people wanting to get photos of the canal, and Jemma seemed determined to be one of them. She found a spot near the top of the bridge’s arch for them to squeeze in along the railing.

“Isn’t this a beautiful view?” she asked, looking out at the canal. Below them, a little cigarette boat zipped beneath the bridge, churning the water in its wake.

“It is,” Fitz murmured. The sun was hot, leaving the buildings at the far end of the canal’s curve rather hazy, but it was still a new and unique experience for him. When he looked at Jemma, she had leaned her hands on the stone railing and was smiling, her eyes sparkling. Feeling smitten, he reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She turned her smile up on him; in the sunlight, she looked positively radiant. He couldn’t help but lean down to give her a soft, tentative kiss, and was beyond thrilled when she pressed back into it.

“Not as beautiful as you, though,” he said when he pulled back, deciding to be bold and corny in the hopes of making her smile. He was rewarded by Jemma blushing and ducking her head against his shoulder. 

“Oh, you old romantic,” she mumbled, grinning. “Your flattery will get you everywhere.”

Fitz felt like he could sing.

Once they regrouped with their tour guide, they moved along to their next landmark. A short walk through more narrow streets and over another canal brought them to a dead end facing a nondescript building on the edge of a canal, heavy iron gates barring the doors on the ground floor. The only thing of note was a plaque on the wall proclaiming that the building had once been the home of Marco Polo.

Even Jemma was disappointed. “That’s it?” she asked, scrunching her nose as she looked up at the plaque, then at the facade with its unassuming green shutters and lone streetlamp. “I guess I thought it would be more…”

“_More_?” Fitz suggested, waving a hand vaguely. Jemma nodded. It just felt very anticlimactic for someone who was considered to be one of history’s greatest explorers. He thought there would at least be a little museum or something.

“Well, I suppose not everyone can live in a palace,” Jemma said.

After listening to their guide’s extensive lecture on Marco Polo, which they supposed made up for the lackluster location, they walked to the last stop on their tour, which was the Campo San Giovanni e Paolo. It was a smallish city plaza known for its 15th-century bronze statue of a Captain General of the Republic astride his horse and a Gothic church that was the burial site for some 25 doges of the city. The exterior of the church was simple red brick, but the inside was all ornate white marble and a beautifully-lit sculpture of Madonna and Child at the altar.

“Are you ready for one last church?” Jemma asked as they walked back to St. Mark’s Square at the end of the tour. “Because we can’t leave without seeing the inside of St. Mark’s Basilica.”

“Oh, I suppose,” Fitz replied dryly, playing up his boredom for comic effect.

“It’s supposed to be gorgeous,” she added, blithely ignoring him. “The ceiling especially. It’ll be a treat.”

There was a long line waiting to get in, but it moved fairly steadily and it wasn’t long before they were inside the church. Fitz admitted to himself that Jemma was right--the ceiling alone was incredible. The entire thing was gilded, covered in gold and glass mosaics, depicting various scenes and famous figures from the Catholic canon. The opulence and the artistry rivaled that of St. Peter’s in Rome in his opinion, and, just like the other cathedral, he knew his mother would have loved to see it for herself. His only regret was that photography wasn’t allowed inside, so he wouldn’t be able to show her what they had seen.

Then they went next door to tour the Doge’s Palace, which held the old Duke of Venice’s apartments, prison, and armory. There were so many things to see on display inside, from old maps of the Mediterranean drawn during the Renaissance to paintings of the various doges to old suits of armor and weapons used by the Republic guards. Jemma was rather enthralled by all of the history on display, while Fitz was more interested in how the prison cells had been constructed over the years, continually being added on to.

When they left, the afternoon sun was starting to sink low in the sky. Jemma clasped her hands around Fitz’s elbow and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked, looking up at him with a winsome smile. He knew what that meant. She wanted something.

“Can I interest you in a gondola ride?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

He laughed. She was laying it on thick. “Really? Those things are tourist traps, you know that, right?”

Jemma shook her head and squeezed his arm. “I don’t care. It’s the ultimate Venetian thing to do! And we won’t be paying for it anyway, remember?” When he just grinned and looked away, she squeezed his arm. “Fitz! You’re a romantic, I know you are. What could be more romantic than a gondola ride down the canals of Venice at sunset?”

He could think of several things, none of which bore repeating in public, so he kept them to himself. Instead, he extracted his arm from Jemma’s hold and put it around her shoulders, drawing her to him. “Alright,” he said, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Just--don’t expect me to sing or recite you poetry or anything rubbish like that.”

Jemma’s face lit up in delight. “I would never,” she replied, throwing her arms around his waist in a quick hug. “You’ve proven yourself to be a softie, but even you have your limits. Come on.” Pushing her sunglasses up on her head, she took Fitz’s hand and led him in the direction of the nearest ferry terminal.

It took a few minutes of haggling with one of the gondoliers to get a ride down to a cost that didn’t feel like gross highway robbery to Fitz. Then they were climbing into the long black boat and Jemma was settling against his side with a contented sigh, looking for all the world like there was nowhere else she would rather be. 

Their gondolier took them on a leisurely path down the Grand Canal, occasionally pointing out places of note but mostly just letting them be. That was more than alright with Fitz. He kept Jemma tucked beneath his arm and relaxed with her against the back of the seat, simply enjoying the sights, the light sounds of the oar splashing in the water as the gondolier rowed, and the mood that came with going at a slower pace--and not having to use his feet. Jemma had a smile on her face the entire time, looking positively enchanted. Any bit of twee tourism indulgence was worth this, Fitz thought, just to see her happy.

They got to see the Rialto Bridge from the water, which thrilled Jemma to no end. She squeezed her hand over Fitz’s knee when it came into view, and he agreed that it looked lovely with the setting sun painting the pale stone a burnished gold. As they came closer, she took out her phone to take a few photos, then took a selfie of the two of them. As she slipped her phone back into her pocket, she leaned her cheek on his shoulder and said, “This is it, Fitz--the height of romance.”

“Is it?” he asked with a smile, humoring her. 

“Yes,” she replied seriously. “The Grand Canal in Venice, a beautiful sunset, going underneath the Rialto Bridge on a gondola… it’s the perfect moment for a kiss.”

It felt like such a Jemma thing to do--look at the parameters, list them out in logical order, and assess why it made for an optimal situation--that he would have kissed her even if she hadn’t suggested it. But his grin widened and, unable to resist teasing her a bit, he said, “You’re not being subtle.”

She smiled sweetly back at him. “I’m not trying to be.”

Well. She must _ really _ want them to work then, Fitz thought as he obliged and leaned in to kiss her. She melted into him, and he cupped her cheek with his free hand as pulled her even closer. Maybe their gondolier wouldn’t mind if he let the kiss spin out a little longer than might be considered polite. He’d probably already seen everything, anyway.

After passing beneath the Rialto Bridge, they turned down a smaller side canal to wind their way back toward St. Mark’s Square. Their gondolier pointed out a few more landmarks, including Mozart’s house (“It looks more interesting than Marco Polo’s,” Jemma observed), until they finally reached the dock they’d originally departed from. They thanked their gondolier for a pleasant ride and climbed out, walking a short way back towards the Doge’s Palace to get their bearings.

“Think you’re ready for dinner?” Fitz asked, stretching and rubbing his stomach. 

“Yes, I think so,” Jemma replied, looking around them. The square wasn’t as crowded now as it had been at midday. 

Fitz smiled. “Well, I said I’d let you pick where we ate, so… anywhere particular in mind?”

She nodded. “I think I know just the place.”

Her venue of choice took them back to the Rialto Bridge, to a busy restaurant with a quaint covered outdoor patio alongside the canal, festooned with colored glass lanterns and climbing vines. Fitz thought that Jemma might be happy if they’d spent their entire day in and around the bridge, but he wasn’t going to tease her for it too much. He was just happy to be with her, happy that she was smiling at him and thankful he hadn’t ruined everything.

Since it was the last night of their holiday, they decided to go all out. They ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, sprung for appetizers, and agreed not to be shy in choosing their main course. Jemma chose lobster tail with tagliolini pasta while Fitz had a grilled beef filet with roasted potatoes and vegetables. They even indulged in dessert and were barely able to finish the decadent tiramisu they were presented with.

“This has been the best day,” Jemma said, setting her fork down on her empty plate and sitting back with a sigh.

Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, remembering how unpleasantly their morning had started off.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I got to see Venice with my best friend--with my boyfriend.” Fitz felt his heart expand in his chest at the way her cheeks stained a fetching pink as she smiled. “I got to do almost everything I wanted to do here. And now we’ve had this amazing meal and I’m completely stuffed. I think we’re ending our holiday on a high note.”

“Yeah?” He had all of the evidence in front of him: both of them in a good mood and smiling, the satisfaction of a successful day, and the brilliance of Jemma calling him her boyfriend. Maybe he just wanted to hear her say it one more time. 

“Yeah,” she replied, affirming his question. “I’m so glad I entered that contest, thinking I could have a getaway with Milton. I got to bring you instead, and it’s turned out better than I ever could have imagined.”

Fitz grinned. “What, you mean you didn’t want Cabbage Head tagging along after you, agreeing with every single thing you said?” he teased, trying to hide how much her words meant to him.

Jemma kicked at him beneath the table. “Absolutely not. He would have been a bore to travel with. Where’s the fun in seeing ancient sites and works of art if you can’t have a little debate about them?”

“That’s not how I remember you feeling when I pointed out the statue of _ David _ was just a bloke with his bits out,” Fitz told her, still smiling.

She rolled her eyes. “At least it inspired _ some _ emotion. Milton would have agreed if I’d said it was a frighteningly good likeness of Director Fury.” She sighed and shook her head, then reached across the table to take his hand. “What I’m saying is, I can’t imagine anyone else coming on this adventure with me. I’m glad it was you. And I’m glad it made us realize we’re even better _ together_. Even if we chose a really terrible way to do it.”

Fitz laughed, accepting there was a certain amount of humor in the way they’d come around to realizing their feelings for each other. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked. “I liked pretending to be your boyfriend. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Jemma agreed, smiling. “And, you have to admit… that first kiss was pretty romantic.” Her expression turned a little dreamy.

It was an excellent fluff for his ego. “Yeah, it was,” he replied, and decided to play humble anyway. “Sometimes I’m alright.”

She squeezed his hand. “You’re more than alright. You’re exactly what I need.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for his heart to burn any brighter for her, but Fitz was wrong. Smiling so widely it hurt, he turned his hand over beneath Jemma’s so he could squeeze hers back. “You’re just what I need, too,” he said, and he meant every word.

-:-

Fitz and Jemma were both giggling when they made it back to their hotel, drunk on each other and perhaps one glass of wine too many. They were holding hands as they came into the reception hall, heads ducked together and smiles on their faces; a curious glance from the woman on duty at the front desk only made them dissolve into hushed laughter again, and they hurried to the elevators so they wouldn’t make a nuisance of themselves.

As soon as they were inside their room with the door shut behind them, Jemma launched herself at Fitz, wrapping her arms around his neck and capturing his mouth in a hungry, passionate kiss. Fitz let out a low groan and pulled her tight to him, responding with equal fervor. Time lost all meaning then; all that mattered was that they were together and alone and finally on the same page: two souls, one heart. Their kisses quickly turned more and more heated and desperate, but it wasn’t until Jemma felt the evidence of Fitz’s growing arousal nudging against her that she came back to herself and realized that there was nothing stopping them this time. No early alarms, no room service, no schedules they had to stick to.

A heady, tingling thrill rushing through her, she let her hands slide to the collar of his shirt, where she started undoing the buttons one by one as she continued to kiss him. She was halfway down the front when Fitz pulled away, breathing heavily.

“Jemma,” he panted, “Jemma.” He closed his hands lightly over hers, stilling them. “I don’t… um, I don’t have anything. I don’t have a condom.”

She took all of him in, from his blown pupils to his swollen lips to his half-open shirt and the visible tent in the front of his shorts, and smiled. She wanted every single bit of him. “We don’t need one,” she told him smugly. “I’m on birth control.’

Fitz’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. “Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely.

Jemma’s smile grew. “Yes, that’s the idea,” she said, extracting her hands from his to resume unbuttoning his shirt. A second later she let out a delighted yelp as he took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, then turned her around and started backing her toward the bed, his hands falling to the hem of her blouse.

After that, she stopped thinking completely.

-:-

When her phone alarm went off late the next morning, Jemma was quick to silence it before settling back down into the blankets, closing her eyes again. They didn’t have to be at the airport until the afternoon, so they weren’t in a rush; it was nice to be able to take their time, without feeling like they had to fly around getting dressed and packed and out the door.

Which made relaxing in bed and not getting up immediately absolutely wonderful. Fitz was warm against her back, the same as he’d been all week, but the feeling of his bare chest against her similarly bare back was delicious. She could get used to it.

“We don’t have to get up yet, do we?” he mumbled, nuzzling into her neck. She smiled.

“No, we don’t.” Memories from the night before--kisses, laughter, pleasure--passed through her mind. She could think of several different ways they could spend their morning without getting up, all of which she was certain Fitz would find agreeable. Then she frowned. “But. I really need the loo.”

Fitz tightened his arm around her. “No you don’t.”

Jemma laughed. “I really do. Here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She pulled herself from his arms and rose from the bed to pad across the room to the ensuite, unbothered by being naked in front of him in broad daylight. His head was still firmly pushed into the pillow, anyway.

In the bathroom, she went through her morning routine and was just about to return to bed when the shower caught her eye. “Fitz,” she called out to him, “Did you see the shower when you were in here yesterday?”

“Hmm?” His voice was muffled by the blanket. “Oh, yeah.”

She continued to study it. “It has a bench.”

“Neat.”

She turned and narrowed her eyes at the door. “A _ bench_, Fitz. A nice, big shower stall with a wide bench.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jemma sighed. Either he really was still half-asleep or he wasn’t as smart about these things as she gave him credit for. Or both. Going to the door, she opened it and leaned against the gold-painted frame, resting a hand on her hip. “A shower with a bench,” she repeated. “Plenty big for two people.”

“Right, yeah--oh.” She could see the moment realization dawned on him. “_Oh_.” Fitz rolled over in bed to face her, and when he saw her propped up against the doorframe watching him, fully nude, he swallowed thickly. “Right. So…” He blinked slowly. “Mind some company in the shower this morning? A nice, long, extended shower?”

Jemma beamed at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

-:-

Later, after they’d finally dragged themselves from the shower, had a late breakfast, and packed to leave, Jemma reached out to take Fitz’s hand. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said.

He gave her a slightly quizzical look, the sunlight catching his eyes and turning them a striking pale blue. They were at the dock for the water taxi, waiting for it to come around so they could get to the train station, which would take them to the airport. Their holiday was officially over.

“You already thanked me last night,” he said.

“I know I did,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But I _ really _ wanted to thank you. I know you weren’t keen on it at first.”

Fitz smiled and briefly looked down. “Yeah, I wasn’t,” he replied. “You know how I like to stick to my routines.” He squeezed her hand back. “But I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

Jemma smiled back at him, feeling her heart grow warm the way it always did when he said something especially sweet.

“And I really did enjoy myself,” he continued. “All of my complaining and sore feet aside. I found something far better than any world heritage site or sweeping vista along the way.”

Jemma laughed even as she blushed. “You’re so cheesy.”

“But it makes you smile,” Fitz countered.

She nodded, bumping her shoulder into his. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

“It’ll be weird, going back to work after all of this,” he said after a minute of companionable silence. “Won’t it? We’ve been spoiled by living the high life.”

Jemma nodded. “Yes, I expect going back to the lab will take some adjustment, just like coming back from any long holiday. But we’ll make it.”

Fitz hummed in agreement. “Well, we can say we’re bringing back one solid thing from this trip,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, tilting her head at him. “What’s that?”

He grinned at her.

“_Us_.”


	17. Epilogue

Fitz was up to his elbows in water and dish soap one night several weeks later when Jemma’s phone rang.

“Let me get that,” she said, wiping her hands on a tea towel, then kissed his cheek as she moved past him to go out to the living room. Maybe it was one of her friends from work calling about Sunday brunch. Fitz went back to scrubbing the pans they’d used to cook dinner and didn’t pay much attention to anything else until he heard the tone of Jemma’s voice turn sharp.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed. He looked over to see her sitting down on the edge of the sofa, her eyes wide. She didn’t look upset, however, just surprised. Reassured that nothing was wrong, he focused on his cleaning again, but kept an ear out for Jemma’s end of the conversation.

“Yes, I had a wonderful time. Thank you for everything,” she was saying. “It was the best holiday I could have asked for.” Silence for a long moment. Then: “Oh. _ Oh_, I’m--I don’t know what to say, thank you, I’m very flattered, but--” Fitz looked back up. Jemma was looking straight at him as she kept talking. “It’s a very kind offer but I come as a package deal with my partner, Fitz--oh, I see.”

He made a face at her. _ What is going on? _

She shook her head. _ I’ll tell you later. _

His curiosity was burning now, and he quickly finished scrubbing out the pan he had and set it in the dishwasher. By the time he was through drying off his hands, Jemma was hanging up.

“So what was that about?” he asked, coming into the living room to join her.

Jemma clasped her hands in her lap, looking like she didn’t quite know how to feel. “That was _ Pepper Potts_,” she said. “Calling me personally. _ Again_. And you will never believe this, but the cruise, the entire competition for the giveaway, was… a sort of courting ritual?”

Fitz made another face. “A _ what_?”

She lifted her hands to press together beneath her chin, looking up at him anxiously. “Stark Industries is looking for bright young minds to bring into their labs and the cruise was to--sweeten the winner up, I suppose?”

“Ah,” Fitz said, crossing his arms. “I told you he was trying to crowdsource ideas.”

Jemma shook her head. “That’s not the point, Fitz. She offered me a job. But I told her I wouldn’t leave S.H.I.E.L.D. without you.”

Fitz gaped at her, dumbstruck. “Stark Industries offered you a job and you turned it down? For _ me_?”

She shook her head again. “I didn’t turn it down, not exactly… more like negotiated. Pepper said they looked into you as well when I won the competition and they saw we worked so closely together. She said she’s sure they could find a place for both of us in R&D.”

Fitz took a step back, his mind racing. Working for _ Tony Stark_… it was every engineer’s dream, wasn’t it? The chance to even breathe in the direction of one of his suits was a life goal. But it would involve a lot of change, and he’d never dealt with that very well. “We’d have to move, you know,” he said at length, aware that Jemma was still watching him for a reaction. “And the cost of living in New York is supposed to be terrible.”

Jemma nodded. “Pepper assured me that we would be paid what we’re worth, including relocation costs. I told her we could discuss possible salaries once I’d had a chance to talk to you.” She sighed and dropped her hands back to her lap. “Are you interested?”

He mused on it for another long moment. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he said, surprising himself. “With S.H.I.E.L.D., we’re potentially helping people across the world. At Stark, it would be more privatized. Besides, didn’t you want to go into the field eventually?”

Jemma nodded again. “I hope that someday we can. Together.” She gave him a small smile. “But we don’t have to make any decisions on anything right this minute. Pepper said the offer is on the table for as long as we need to decide.” She stood from the sofa and held out a hand to him. “Come on, let’s finish in the kitchen and have another glass of wine. I feel like I could use one now.”

It didn’t take them long to complete their post-dinner cleanup, and in short order they were both back out on the sofa with wine in hand, Jemma cuddled up against Fitz’s side while the television droned quietly in the background. 

“You know,” he said, putting voice to some of his earlier thoughts, “as an engineer it’s sort of the dream to work at Stark Industries. It’s all any of us ever talked about career-wise when I was at MIT. But they weren’t willing to hire a sixteen-year-old, so when S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking, it was the next obvious choice. And I’m thankful for that, because it brought me to you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But if you had to ask me… I actually like where we are. We’re doing good work with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I like where we are, too,” Jemma replied quietly. They sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, sipping their wine and each lost in their own thoughts, and until Jemma shifted to turn into Fitz a bit. “It wouldn’t be wrong of me to turn down the job offer after they sent us on such a lovely cruise, would it?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Absolutely not,” Fitz replied immediately. “It wasn’t one of the terms of accepting the prize package, so you aren’t under any obligation.” He huffed. “If this is Tony Stark’s way of warming up potential employees, he might want to rethink his approach.”

Jemma took another sip of her wine. “Or not,” she mumbled. When Fitz looked at her, she said, “If we hadn’t gone on the cruise, we might not have realized our feelings for each other. Not for a long time, at least.”

“You’re right,” Fitz relented.

“So we really should send Pepper and Tony a thank-you card,” she added. “Or a nice fruit basket, at the very least.”

He laughed. “Right again. We owe them that much.”

Jemma relaxed even more into his side, smiling when his arm tightened around her shoulders. No matter what decision they came to regarding the jobs they’d been offered, he knew they would do it as a team--just like they always had. No matter what they did in the future or where they went, they would always have each other. Now it was just with deeper meaning, in every sense imaginable: as colleagues, best friends _ and _ as more than that. And that made whatever the future held for them worth everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I hope you all enjoyed it. I can't wait to share my next story with you--I'm already hard at work (including a sequel to this fic)! In the meantime, come follow me on Tumblr at @eclecticmuses, where I post writing updates and art!


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